


Son of the Don

by LittleMissHeartfillia



Series: It's A Gray World Afterall [1]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst, Daddy Issues, Depersonalization Disorder, Detective Noir, Drinking to Cope, Drug Use, F/F, Great Depression, Homophobia, Italian Mafia, Italiano | Italian, M/M, Murder, NSFW, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Past Child Abuse, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Smoking, Stingue Week, basically yall theyre fucked up, cigarette use, cuz yeah that, dont even know if itll have a happy ending yet, just straight up murder, son of a don, whats the word for their enemies but they dont know it yet??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissHeartfillia/pseuds/LittleMissHeartfillia
Summary: With a rise in murder cases, poverty, drunken brawls, and thievery Sting Eucliffe is watching his city go up in flames. The Great War killed everyone else he knew. The stock market crash destroyed any hope America had left. In such difficult times Sting struggles to fight off the past and to find a hope that’ll keep him going.After ten years in a foreign country Rogue Cheney finds himself at the bottom of the world’s pit of despair. Yet he can’t seem to find the emotion to care. Even if he could it would serve the future Don of the Cheney Clan no good. His father has a business to run. And he has a lot to learn.





	1. The Power in Family

**Author's Note:**

> Where do I start fam! Oh gosh so this first chapter is uploaded as a part of Stingue Week but since I don't feel like updating a chapter a day from this point on I'll be posting weekly- if I can keep up my schedule, we'll see. That being said however, each chapter will feature ideas/themes based on every prompt for Stingue Week.  
> I hope you're ready because this is going to be a wild ride and a very ambitious fic for me. I won't ramble too long but please give me love for this. Kudos are high fives, comments are my life blood. <3  
> [EDIT] I have added hovertext to every chapter so now you won't have to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page for a translation you can just hover your cursor over it-this works on mobile similarly if you click and hold. But sidenote, and this depends on your preference settings in AO3 but you have to make sure "Show Creator's Style" is clicked on. Otherwise you won't see the translations at all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been years since Rogue Chenney was able to feel anything at all. He was half convinced that his entire life he hadn't felt anything at all. He always assumed that skill would serve him well as son to a mob boss. But maybe that blonde at the bar was going to change everything.  
> Sting Eucliffe has been spiraling for two years in and out of reality. He can hardly believe that life had kept him alive for this long. Every day was a day closer to some fantasized finish line of life. No one said he couldn't have fun along the way though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do I start fam! Oh gosh so this first chapter is uploaded as a part of Stingue Week but since I don't feel like updating a chapter a day from this point on I'll be posting weekly- if I can keep up my schedule, we'll see. That being said however, each chapter will feature ideas/themes based on every prompt for Stingue Week.  
> I hope you're ready because this is going to be a wild ride and a very ambitious fic for me. I won't ramble too long but please give me love for this. Kudos are high fives, comments are my life blood. <3

_ September 2, 1935 _

The long drag from the cigarette tastes foul in his mouth for the first time in his life. The ashes flare up brightly then recede just as quickly into a charcoal colored stub on the end of the stick. Sting Eucliffe held the smoke in for a few moments, letting the putrid taste sit on his tongue.

It’s fine, he tells himself. He deserves this, he knows. The cigarette is just a pale imitation for the world that tried to kill him every day. Society was the flame and Sting was the tobacco. He was always being chased, always being lit on fire for other’s amusement. And the certain other he thought of was permanently stuck in the back of his mind, disintegrating every last happy memory he’d had. Just like the embers chase away the mint tasting menthol with every inhale.

He blew the smoke out through his nose at first and then, when he couldn’t stand the taste any longer, he opened his mouth to release it all at once. He watched it billow into a hazy fog that quickly covered up the dull gray of the ceiling tiles. The smoke was clouding over everything until, even with the golden light of evening coming through the slanted blinds, Sting thought that his entire office was turning gray.

He was just about to take another drag when there came a knock on the door. He sighed as he sat back, the squeak that followed sounded like chills up his chair’s spine. “Come in,” he moaned to the closed glass door.

In a moment his silver haired secretary peeked inside. Her round cheeks were as rosy as always, and it shocked Sting, the contrast such a fair haired young creature had in this dull office. “Detective?” she called.

Sting sat forward, pushing the butt of his cigarette into his ashtray. Trying for a smile he said, “Yukino, don’t be shy now. What can I do for you?”

Yukino slipped her way between the door and stood before him fully. “Chief has been asking for you. Says he’s got another tough case that he needs you for.” Yukino paused and Sting casually cast a glance outside his office. The blinds were always down but he kept them slanted slightly so he could see basic movement within the precinct.

Sure enough, there was Chief Jiemma standing impatiently by Yukino’s reception desk, tapping his foot and glaring at everyone. Sting also noticed how suddenly every officer in the station was dutifully doing their work, noses to their files or telephones so they wouldn’t have to look at the Chief. He didn’t like to be looked at.

Sting blew air out of his nose. “Yikes, he doesn’t look happy,” he remarked.

Yukino clasped her hands neatly in front of her long pressed skirt. “I would be wary. The departments been breathing down his neck because of the rising unsolved murders.”

Sting rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he said then he stood up. “Alright, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Yukino nodded and shyly slipped out of his office to tell Jiemma he would be present soon. Sting, meanwhile, ran a hand through his slicked back blonde hair. The day was wearing thin, and so was his appearance. Soon his hair would start sticking up in random spots, this gel was the only way he could keep it controlled.

But it wasn’t time to think about that right now. If Jiemma was being hounded from HR that likely meant he was going to hound Sting too. It wasn’t like Sting was already up to his knees in unsolved, no lead murder cases. He was starting to believe crime in this city was going to consume them all. Not to mention the whispers he’d heard that gangs had been forming in the dreg ends of back alley residence areas.  _ This city is going to shit _ ...Sting thought as he walked around his office desk and out into the tense silence of the precinct.

He kept his back straight as he approached, already fingering another cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Chief?” Sting said lighting up the cigarette as he approached.

Jiemma grumbled and crossed his arms, looking down at Sting from his impossible height and bushy face of hair. “Ass in gear, Eucliffe, we got another murder case. Fifteen year old girl this time. That brings this precinct ten cases behind and HR is going to start making cuts if you can’t do your job right.” His voice was deep, gruff like it always was when he’d been drinking too much.

Sting simply nodded and didn’t meet his gaze, looking instead to the cigarette between his fingers as he flicked away the excess ashes. “What are the details of the case? I’ll look over them all tonight.”

Jiemma huffed and frowned. “No, not tonight,  _ now _ -” He shoved a thin folder into Sting’s chest and made to walk away, forcing Sting to follow him as he went. “I don’t want any excuses this time, detective. There’s a reason all these unsolved murders are piling up and I want to see results from you.”

Jiemma stomped around each desk, his expression just as heavy as his footsteps, towards his own office. Each officer either found an excuse to suddenly get up from their chairs before Jiemma passed, or a reason to duck under their desk, leaving Jiemma’s footpath empty. Sting followed obediently, like a trained cat, not making any noise.

“You think they’re all connected, Chief?”

With one hand on the metal of his office door handle Jiemma whipped around, “Of course they’re connected, boy!” he roared and Sting stopped a few extra paces back. “Ten murder cases in three weeks and whispers of a new gang in D4 and you think it’s a coincidence?”

Sting nodded his head and kept his face stoic. “It is suspicious, sir.”

“Right,” Jiemma said standing in the doorway to talk loudly at Sting. “So figure it out, Eucliffe. I want results!”

Without another word Jiemma stepped inside and slammed the door in Sting’s face. He was left standing, cigarette burning uselessly where it hung from his lips. He fingered the edges of the thin file of papers nervously for a moment then turned around.

Every eye in the precinct was on him. Officers stopped in their tracks to stare widely at the show. Sting rolled his eyes and made sure everyone saw. Putting the file under his arm and grabbing the cigarette between his fingers he said, “Alright, back off scamps. Nothing new happened here. Just get back to work before he kills us all for slacking off.”

Instantly life returned to the station as if nothing had happened. Sting began to walk back to his office. It was almost a rarity now when Chief showed up here. He guessed that was the reason for everyone’s curiosity. Sting didn’t know where Jiemma was always running off to, and he didn’t really have the courage to ask.

The last time someone asked Jiemma a personal question it was his daughter and she didn’t leave the station without some nasty bruises. No one really questioned the chief after that. They all just stuck to their jobs, because what he did didn’t matter as long as they got paid.

Sting hated that atmosphere. It  _ should  _ matter to them. He had never been able to get close to the chief’s daughter, not that he wanted to, but Minerva Orland had always seemed to be hiding something. He had a feeling that Jiemma was the reason for that, even if most of the time she acted like she enjoyed the torture Jiemma would inflict on them. Sting had a gut feeling she was just acting out of self-preservation.

Not unlike the rest of them, Sting observed. In all his years on the force he had found that that’s really all life is. Just a world of self-serving bastards trying once more in pitiful desperation to survive until tomorrow.

He slapped the file on his desk and moved to the cabinets lined up on his wall so he could look at the others all together. Ten cases. Ten murders. And only one lead across all of them that was currently skipping town.

Sting hated to admit it but cases were never this empty. Not in a city as big as New York, not with telegraphs and telephones making communication-and subsequently gossip-easier to hear. The more he struggled with this the more he thought that evidence was purposefully being hidden or stolen from the police. Someone wanted very much to cover up their tracks.

The Chief’s words rang in his ears once more, _ Ten murder cases in three weeks and whispers of a new gang forming down in D4 and you think it’s a coincidence? _  Sting swallowed hard. If New York was breeding new gangs, dangerous ones that killed for sport or perhaps something worse, he would have an entirely different case on his hand. One that could kill him at any turn if he slipped up.

Sting walked from his desk over to the table by his cabinets, and poured a glass of whiskey. He took a slow sip and let the burn ease its way down his throat. If this did end up killing him what would be the harm in a few more liquid deaths before he got there.

 

Rogue Cheney hated slackers. He had no sympathy for the stupid sluggers who gave excuse after excuse without result. So the idea of standing here, ready to kick down the door of the shithole his weasel of a soldier stuffed himself in now was repulsing to say the least.

He had told Damien over and over again to not fuck up. To clean up every scrap of evidence. Hell, Rogue had even made it easy and gotten one of their associates to go into the precinct and wipe any evidence the police  _ did _ manage to find. 

But still Damien was here, running for his life, because despite all of their careful planning and protocols in place a missing person’s report had been put out along with a BOLO for arrest with Damien’s face on it. Not to mention that he’d done the unspeakable to the family. Rogue shook his head of thoughts. The anger creeping up in him was about to be solved today. He just had to act on it.

After thirty minutes of listening silently at the front door he had heard enough to know that his weasel was still inside, talking in hushed tones to someone who sounded like his wife. Rogue turned around, the silk material of his dress clothes swishing delicately as he did. With one look at his soldiers- his  _ _ -behind him, they were charging inside the rundown shack they called a complex.

Rogue watched each  _ _ stomp inside. He listened calmly to the screams that followed. Every man had his weapon drawn as he stepped across the threshold. Rogue waited until the first shrieks of shock had died down, and he knew that his targets had been wrangled together, before he stepped in.

Rogue held his head high, taking his hat off as he entered. He held the hat where his heart should have been. With a fierce gaze he looked over the room. The weasel was clutching onto his wife and child.  _ Coward _ . Rogue thought. A wiry frame of a man too weak to protect his own. His long face paled as Rogue strutted forward and all of a sudden his mouth was unhinging wildly but no sound made it out.

Rogue’s shined shoes clicked on the pine flooring as it creaked under his weight. He opened his arms and gave Damien a grin. “Damien,” he spoke drawing out his words in a thick Italian accent. He had practiced it just to remind Damien of where Rogue and his family came from. Things may be different in America but Damien had to remember that Italians like him and his father don’t play by their rules. America is weak, but Rogue wouldn’t be.

He was only two steps away when Damien let go of his wife, who then hugged her ten year old son closer to her. He was on his knees now, pleading, getting dirt all over the expensive suit Rogue’s father had given him.

Rogue sneered, managing to look happy whilst doing so. “Skipping town, Evans?”

“ _ _ ,” Damien pleaded putting both his hands together. “ _ _ , please. Mercy-” Damien tried to shuffle forward on his knees but Rogue slyly slipped a pistol out of his pocket and leveled it at Damien’s head. There was barely a split second for Damien to realize he was staring down the barrel of a gun before the bullet split its way through his skull.

Damien’s wife screamed as his body fell to the floor, all blood splatter and leaky wounds. Much to Rogue’s surprise the little boy barely even flinched. He just stared at his father’s dead body, all dark eyes almost black in the dingy room, while his mother shook him and went into hysterics.

Rogue looked at the boy for a while. When the kid didn’t meet his eyes he bent down, knees hanging over the blood puddle. “ _ _ ?” Rogue asked and kept staring. Finally the boy looked up and Rogue noticed a single tear was falling down his left cheek.

He looked confused and the more he stared the more his eyebrows creased. “What’s your name, son?” When the boy didn’t answer Rogue continued with a nasally “Huh, don’t you got one?” Rogue jerked the barrel of the pistol in his direction to get his attention.

Suddenly the boy straightened. His mother by now had collapsed on the floor and was whispering Damien’s name over and over again, like a mantra, as she crawled slowly to his body. “F-Frosch?” the boy stuttered. He swallowed thickly, a bead of sweat falling down his temple from his head of chalky brown hair.

Rogue chuckled. “Say it clearly,  _ _ . Be proud of who you are.”

Frosch nodded slightly, his pupils now shakily darting between each of Rogue’s eyes. He was now pointedly avoiding the corpse of his father. “Frosch,” he said loud and clear.

Rogue smirked. “That’s a good, boy. You know you could turn into something-” Rogue talked with the gun in his hand, gesturing casually to Damien’s body. “-not like this failure. And listen I’ve already killed a lot today, and I could take you too, but kids- eehh-” Rogue made a face and waved his hands searching for the words. “Let’s just say we Italians have a strong moral code for some things. So, Frosch, if you behave and follow orders, you may be able to stay with us from now on.”

Frosch’s eyes seemed to level out at the size of dinner plates. His expression lost its confusion and gained something that Rogue knew all too well. Blankness. Emptiness. And judging by the deadset in Frosch’s eyes Rogue would say it was coupled with the inability to feel anything when he knew he should be in a similar state as his weeping mother.

Still he didn’t spare her another glance as she lay on her husband’s chest, trying to wipe the blood off his forehead in vain. “And what if I don’t want to?” Frosch asked.

Rogue gave a noncommittal shrug and pointed once more with his gun to the corpse of Frosch’s father. Frosch looked at his father again, but it was almost like the first time and his eyes widened all over again. In a split second he pieced it all together. His head snapped back up to Rogue who had extended a hand.

Without looking back Frosch took it and followed Rogue as he stood up to bring Frosch out of the house. The boy tried to look back a few times, especially when his mother began calling his name. She nearly reached him with her hands to pull him back.

But Rogue didn’t need to say anything before she was restrained, he placed one hand on Frosch’s shoulder to keep him from turning around. Walking out of the shack her ghastly shrieks followed as the  _ _ closed in, all guns and stern bodies blocking view of her only offspring. The last thing they heard was a high pitched screech cut off at its apex, leaving the now silent air bone chilling in the tail end of summer.

 

“Yer a fucking idiot, Ryos.”

Rogue fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Stop calling me that,” Rogue said in a flat tone.

The man standing in front of him, his brother, took another look over at the boy Rogue had picked up. Since arriving back at the Cheney house, Frosch had been rather quiet, though Rogue couldn’t be sure if that was normal for the boy. Now he was sitting patiently, thighs on his palms and staring at his kicking feet in the large grand foyer of the Cheney mansion. Rogue briefly wondered why the boy hadn’t broken down by now. He doubted Frosch was used to the mafias tactics; but the implication given by his reaction to all this suggested otherwise, and that put a knot in Rogue’s stomach.

In his experience, the family didn’t deal in children. Not since his elder brother had nearly been killed for being the child of a hidden affair. But Rogue also knew that the family held its own code of honors, one which involved no killing of children. For now that meant he would have to take Frosch under his wing, get the boy situated in a housing agreement with someone willing, and hopefully- _ hopefully _ -the boy wouldn’t be too much trouble.

Gajeel scoffed, he put his scarred hands in the pockets of his baggy slacks. “Kid looks like a wimp.”

“Mind your business,  _ _ ,” Rogue warned.

“You know the boss doesn’t deal in kids,” Gajeel barked at him. “What makes you think you can keep him?” Rogue opened his mouth but before he could say anything Gajeel added. “And don’t call me,  _ _ .”

Rogue curled his lips. “Your mother is my mother; that makes us  _ _ . But I’m not here to debate blood with you, where’s the boss?”

Gajeel groaned and turned from Rogue to light up a cigar. “Fuck if I know. He’s your kin, I was just leaving.”

Gajeel made as if to walk away but Rogue grabbed his elbow and gripped it hard. “Why are you here, anyway?” Rogue asked.

Gajeel ripped his arm out of Rogue’s grasp, his teeth grinding a little too much on the butt of his cigar. “Relax, I was looking for the boss too but he ain’t here.”

Rogue sneered. His elder half-brother only came around for the boss if he wanted something. And after all the stunts Gajeel had pulled with his drinking, drugs, and fucking around he’d been cut off from any legitimate claims to the Cheney’s estate or expenses, even after Rogue's father had been so kind as to allow him an illegitimate chance at it. Rogue despised the idea of Gajeel coming back and asking for something now. After all that’s happened Gajeel can’t possibly expect the boss to do anything for the son of an affair that wasn’t even his own.

“All of the  **power** offered to you in this house and you still seek the boss’s money just to chase the dregs of society…” Rogue commented harshly but Gajeel didn’t grace him with a response. He offered no more words and his reaching hand fell back to his side. Gajeel gave him a hairy eyeball before shrugging off the touch and stomping out of the main foyer.

Rogue watched his body disappear behind the closed door. His attention was broken finally when Frosch’s high pitched voice called to him.

“Do I have to leave now?”

Rogue turned to the boy, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” he asked some of the venom from his talk with Gajeel still present in his tone.

Frosch shrugged. “Last time they couldn’t find the man to take care of me I had to leave.” 

Rogue walked lightly up to Frosch. “What do you mean the ‘last time’?” he asked.

Frosch stared up at him with big dark eyes, if the light held them long enough Rogue could tell they were brown but here in the dim foyer before nightfall they looked as black as his pupils. “Back at the orphanage. I went to my first family but they never found the head of the house so I had to leave.”

“Your first family?” Rogue quirked an eyebrow. Frosch just nodded matter of factly.  _ So this boy is used to seeing rotten things? _  Rogue thought. He frowned slightly and said, “Nevermind, I don’t care. Just go upstairs. Last door on the right is my room you can have it until we figure out where you’ll go.”

Frosch followed his order without hesitation. His small steps echoed in the grand room as he practically ran up the stairs. Rogue let out a heavy breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He turned his attention instead to the problem at hand.

Where was his father? He couldn’t very much bring a new child into the family without permission first, especially one as young as Frosch. And he knew his father’s loathsome attitude towards anyone younger than twenty-five. Most of the time Rogue was even sure his father hated him, his only son, simply for not growing up fast enough.

On a whim Rogue found his feet had brought him into the kitchen where servants were preparing the family’s dinner.  _ _ . His father’s favorite. Though it was hard to tell, wherever the boss was, that a dinner would bring him home tonight.

“Adelina?” Rogue called to the brown haired servant preparing the ingredients and ordering around the other cooks. “Tell me when the boss will be home, ah?” he paused then added, “And make sure the boy in my room is taken care of.”

Adelina nodded vigorously then turned back to her work as one servant dumped steaming water in the wrong pot. She stopped short, finally processing what Rogue had said. “Boy? What boy?”

But Rogue had already left the kitchen. He was suddenly in a state of fathomless boredom. His time was no longer occupied and for the rest of the night he was free. Unless the family suddenly needed him for something. But he doubted they would.

Rogue made his way back to the foyer, grabbed his hat and left the house with a swift wind under his feet. Summer was just ending and New York brought a cool autumn breeze to an otherwise dead cityscape. The Cheney mansion was a bit of a walk away from downtown but Rogue had nothing better to do. He swallowed the idle thoughts that plagued his mind like pond scum floating delicately on top of murky water. He was just bored, nothing more.

Yet still as Rogue continued down the long driveway and turned the corner at the front gates he found himself fighting one persistent thought. One thought that rang true in the small corners of his mind. A small truth that scuttled from the safety of the shadows for to come into the light was to be destroyed. Rogue was a monster, because he wasn’t sure he had ever felt anything at all.

Where Rogue found his feet taking him was further into town than he had planned. Halfway through the walk he stopped thinking and just floated. His soles carried him down the cracked pavement of the outskirts into the smooth cement of the old city. Without a purpose or a direction. He was drifting away from the world but his feet kept walking. 

By the time his awareness floated back to him he realized he was walking close to Wall Street. His distaste for the more uppity business types didn’t sit well with him or anyone from his family. And the feeling was mutual. Legality was often ignored within the mafia family of New York. And Rogue knew of quite a few politicians and businessmen that would love to do away with the kind of  _ filth _ they were so sure a mafia was.

He turned on his heel before he got too far. Turning around Rogue saw the night winding down and street lamps turning on. At this time of night the party goers were just starting to wander the streets. Flapper girls and young men barely out of their parents roofs took to the bars and restaurants.

Rogue despised the idea of interacting with anyone; but sometimes a crowded bar was the best place to be alone. No one cared what you did, what you drank or who you talked to. So he walked into the busiest bar he could see in sight.

The interior was dark, somehow darker than the night outside. It was still lit pleasantly every few feet with golden fluorescents that provided a calming atmosphere. Stirring so differently from the atmospheric light were the people in the bar. Some, who looked like they’d been there a long time, were already drunk and swaying on their seats. There was a jazz band on a stage to the right, and a throng of people dancing in their flowing dress outfits.

Rogue took a seat as far on the end of the bar as he could. He quickly ordered a shot of gin and a bourbon. The gin went down smoothly, too smoothly. The bourbon however took it’s time to burn as it slid down his esophagus. He had barely taken the rim of the cup from his mouth before another shot was slammed down in front of him.

Rogue looked over in distaste. A very smiley blonde was standing, one elbow on the counter and a twinkle in his blue eyes that mimicked the light of the bar. Rogue frowned at him. But the boy just kept on smiling.

Finally he leaned in closer, and said rather loudly to be heard over the din of the crowd, “Name’s Sting. You look like you need a drink.”


	2. Would You Trust Them?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just supposed to be a one night stand. Sting never let anything get farther than that. He keeps telling himself even as the feelings persist that a fling is all they will ever be.  
> With Lucy sticking her nose in police business and Frosch without a home or family to love him things get very complicated for both forlorn boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chap gets pretty explicit with the rough sex and all. And the added NSFW scene brought this chapter up to be pretty long so there's that too.  
> I'll also tell you that from now on I'll be updating on Saturdays cause it's just easier for my schedule to handle. Hope you guys are liking reading it tho, cuz honestly this is only the beginning of all the messed up shit that's gonna go down. Prepare yourselves for straight angst!

_ September 2, 1935 _

Sting stared down the pale, dark haired man in front of him. It was probably rude of him to just insert himself in the other man’s space when he so clearly didn’t want to be bothered. But Sting took one look at the sneer on his face and couldn’t help but to smile wider. 

Distance and distrust attracted him for whatever stupid reason he could never fathom. If Sting was honest with himself, he figured it was really because that kind of emotion never led to anything but sex just for the hell of it. There were no complicated feelings involved, no worries about doing anything more than just providing a service and getting one in return. And there was no risk that Sting could grow attached just to watch them leave. Or worse.

The other man however didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm. Still, Sting was sure he got the hint of what exactly it was Sting wanted from him. And his first impression was that this man was someone like him-someone who could do rough no feelings attached sex. Sometimes Sting was too good at picking out the fucked up ones. The ones so alike to him that he could get them to agree to whatever he wanted.

“ _ _ . I don’t agree with your kind of filth,” he said and Sting sucked in a breath to feign being hurt. The other man’s voice was soft, a little rough around the edges, but still pleasant. He also had a hint of an Italian accent, one that seemed to be faded with years but came out guttural and vehement when he spoke his native tongue. Sting was intrigued.

“Ah, see that’s what you wanna say because you don’t want anyone seein’ what we do here. Well, don’t worry, man-buns, I don’t kiss and tell,” Sting said, eyeballing the man’s luscious black hair that was falling over one half of his face perfectly. It brought even more attention to his already gaunt cheeks.

His target stopped looking at Sting but his white knuckles seemed to relax as he turned his glass of bourbon in his hand. Sting licked his lips and pushed the shot glass closer to his target. He had filled it to the brim with the same gin he had watched the bartender pour for the man. So he knew it wasn’t out of the man’s taste.

Sting leaned in as he slid the cup closer. “I told you my name, you could grace me with yours over another drink?”

The other man laughed dryly. “ _ Sting _ is not a name. This it’s a pour imitation of an alias. Makes you sound like a-” he paused searching for the word. “Twit,” he said. Sting couldn’t tell if he paused for effect or because he couldn’t remember the word but both options had an extremely weighted impact on his chest that he wasn’t expecting. Sting took the challenge, and without a word, sat down on the barstool beside him. “Ah, I have not even accepted your drink yet. Why are you sitt-”

“Because I want to hear more about this mysterious man who just insulted me,” Sting interrupted. He quirked an eyebrow and pointed again to the shot of gin. “To be frank, though, I’m going to keep that for myself if you don’t want it?”

They shared a moment looking into each others eyes. Then his mystery man grabbed the gin and downed it in one gulp. When he slammed the shot glass back down on the table he looked Sting in the eye and said, “Since we are sharing fake names, you may call me Rogue.”

Sting let a laugh escape him.  _ Victory number one. _ “Who said that wasn’t my real name, huh?”

Rogue signed to the bartender that he wanted two more drinks before he turned to Sting and said, “I see a lot more names than you do, I can spot a fake identity from a mile away.”

For a moment Sting let his smile falter. Half of his tactic when flirting required some sort of fake childhood or career identity. People just didn’t seem too fond of the truth, Sting included. But he wasn’t one to give up. And if he could wrangle this one it could be his greatest catch to date.

Slyly, Sting grabbed his shot of gin as the bartender slid one towards them both. Raising one eyebrow he said, “Hm, you’ll have to show me sometime. How you do that trick with the fake identity.”

To his surprise Rogue almost smiled. Just before the corners of his mouth could curl up, however, he looked away and seemed to force a frown. “Listen, whatever you want from this I’m not interested. You seem like nice man, Sting. There must be other men you can harass here, no?”

Sting let his inhibitions go, throwing out a hearty one syllable laugh. “You’d be surprised. I’d like to say I’m rather good at picking out the dicky ones but everyone’s so damn stoic these days.”

Rogue scoffed. “Are you saying I’m not?”

Sting shrugged, putting his hands together as he leaned on the counter and began bouncing his leg on the step of the stool. “Oh no, you’re the most hard to read man in this joint. But I like a good gamble every now and then.”

There was a long moment where Rogue stared into Stings eyes, each pupil flicking swiftly back and forth. Sting felt a funny feeling in that moment. He knew Rogue was attractive from afar but up close Sting was getting goosebumps. More because of the way Rogues hazel eyes seemed to glow red under the orange fluorescents. 

With such unrestricted access into Rogues complexion Sting could see the almost youthful glow of his skin that tried to show through his oblong face. But those eyes. They sparkled and dimmed at the same time. Like someone had placed a glass cover across a long emptied space, in an attempt to illusion that life still existed in those hazel irises.

Finally Rogue took a sip of his bourbon and gave him a smirk. “You took a pretty big gamble. What if I told you I was heir to a crime syndicate?” Sting’s grin faded so quickly that Rogue flinched. Before he could respond Rogue spoke up again. “I’m joking, don’t look so stiff, ah?”

Sting found his voice again and managed a dry, nervous chuckle. “Sorry. Not so smooth to admit, but I have a bad history with members of crime syndicates.”

Rogue scoffed, “I’m not here to share sob stories. Are we going to do this or not?” Rogue said and downed the last of his drink.

Stings eyes shot wide open. “What?”

Rogue turned in his chair and honestly looked annoyed as he said, “First you are persistent, then you are oblivious? If I wanted sex I could pay someone to do it better.”

It took all of Stings self control not to flush right then and there. After downing his last shot he hopped off his stool and offered Rogue a wink, saying, “No need, man-buns. Meet me behind the bar in five.” Sting fished a dollar bill from his pocket and flashed the tip at the bartender who took it without even looking. Then he strut away from Rogue, making sure his head of blonde hair was bouncing with every step he took.

 

* * *

 

 

The back alley was dark, it took a while for Sting’s eyes to adjust. When they did he was aware of two things. One, the cracked pavement was still damp from the days rain hours prior; and two, he was beginning to feel happy, like he was floating on cloud nine. The alcohol was doing its job.

He smoked one cigarette while he waited for Rogue to join him. It was better they were both seen leaving separately. Attracted less eyes. While he inhaled the bitter smoke he couldn’t stop smiling. For some reason this catch of the day was a good one. Sting just hoped he fucked as good as he looked.

When Rogue finally joined him he flicked the cigarette into a puddle and turned to him. Sting opened his mouth and was halfway into saying “So, how do you like it?” when Rogue pushed him against a wall and clashed their mouths together.

_ Rough? _   Sting thought. He could do rough. Rogue’s breathing was raspy and hot against his mouth. He parted his lips wide to suck on the whole of Sting’s mouth. He was earned with Sting’s tongue sliding fluidly against his.

Sting allowed himself one small moan, he didn’t want to seem too into it but he wanted Rogue to know that he wanted more. Rogue’s hands traveled around Sting’s shoulders slipping under the neckline of his button up. With one hand he unbuttoned Sting’s shirt and with the other he forcefully yanked Sting’s collar down over his shoulder.

Sting never took his mouth away from Rogue’s, they both breathed heavily into each other like rabid animals. Sting’s fingers wandered to Rogue’s waistline where they fiddled with his belt buckle, already slipping inside and getting a touch of the soft, silky skin underneath.

At the same time that Rogue had Sting’s shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his arms, Sting had flung his belt buckle to the side, grabbed the waistline of his slacks, and yanked him closer.

There was a moment where Rogue stopped kissing to rest his forehead on Sting’s. Those piercing brown eyes still sparkled with red specks in the outside light and this time Sting felt them boring a hole into his skull. Some say a look that harsh means someone’s undressing you with their eyes. But to Sting it felt like Rogue was peeling him. Scraping back every layer of broken, scarred skin to see the gelatinous mess that pulsed in his heart. Though he hated that it did, it took Sting’s breath away.

While he stared intensely Rogue’s hands roamed their way down Sting’s back side, now rubbing into his newly exposed skin. His hands met with Sting’s ass and he squeezed without warning. Sting gave him a sudden smirk while he grabbed his collar and undid Rogue's button up shirt.

With a flourish Rogue shrugged both his open jacket and his collared shirt to the ground, uncaring that they landed in a puddle. Sting let his hands roam the milky expanse of Rogue’s backside, still playing with the hem of his pants.

Rogue grabbed his hair and pulled, while Sting unzipped his pants. He smirked as his hand reached under the cotton underwear and began to rub against Rogue’s cock. His smirk grew when he felt Rogue’s hard on coming through.

Suddenly Rogue pushed him once more against the wall. He ignored the pain that shot through his shoulder as he collided with the brick. Rogue gave him a glare as he stepped closer to breathe heavily into his face.

“No,” he said, his accent coming back thickly. Rogue shifted on his feet just to be closer to Sting although their bare chests were already pressed together. Rogue glared at him with his hand on the back of his waist and those eyes that tore him apart.

“I don’t  _ get _ fucked,” Rogue continued, nipping at Sting’s bottom lip with his teeth.

Sting let out a dry laugh. He reached to grab at Rogue’s exposed penis, earning a slight gasp from him. Rogue seemed to raise higher until he towered over Sting.

“Don’t you, man-buns?” Sting played, enjoying the pressure of Rogue’s cock as it rose into his hand and against his thigh.

“Turn around,” Rogue demanded, his eyes never breaking contact. “I will fuck you properly.”

Sting couldn’t help the rush of exhilaration that washed over him when Rogue’s Italian accent drawled on those words. He was used to rough sex. He was used to one night stands. What he wasn’t used to was actually feeling something more than just the hot rush of desire. Still Sting blamed it on the heat of the moment. There was no way a complete stranger could make him actually feel something like this.

But the more Rogue’s hands roamed his body, the harsher they groped him. Their tongues intertwined again but this time Rogue’s mouth kissed its way down Sting’s neck. He bent his head back and leaned into Rogue only to have the other turn him around and push him into the wet bricks.

Rogue leaned into him, pressing his throbbing member into Sting’s back and began massaging the skin around his cock until finally, finally his fingers wrapped around Sting’s manhood. “Fuck-” Sting let out on a breathy moan.

Rogue nibbled a bit at his ear, his hot breath leaving a fog next to his cheek that sent chills down his spine. “Let’s get this over with,” he whispered in a husky voice that was surprisingly sexy. “I hope you’re stretched today.”

“Just fuck me,” Sting said over his shoulder. Rogue took his liberties as he smirked kisses into the back of Sting’s neck. He reached his hands around the waistline of Sting’s pants and ripped them down to expose his ass.

Rogue braced a hand on the wet brick of the building but that was about as much warning as Sting got before Rogue was pressing inside him. An overwhelming feeling of excitement swept through him and Sting rocked back into him, moaning when his cock roamed deeper inside. A hot wave of pleasure made Sting’s toes curl as he hit his prostate. Sting’s back arched, Rogue grabbed at his hair, keeping him bent in euphoria. With Rogue’s other hand on Sting’s cock he rubbed the skin and kept Sting pressed against him.

A grunt escaped Rogue’s lips as he thrust once...twice, Sting’s body pulsing with the rhythm.

They were one for those minutes of ecstasy. their bodies moved in sync, thrusting together, flushing hot with pleasure. With each push Rogue was getting rougher, tugging on Sting’s hair, keeping his body pinned to the brick.

They were so close to climax when Sting looked over his shoulder and gave Rogue’s arm a playful bite, sucking his lips on the sweaty skin. Rogue growled, a gurgling sound that escaped from the back of his throat. He pushed harder into Sting this time, causing him to gasp as pain split up his rear.

Rogue was hurting him now, tugging so hard on his hair that clumps of blonde locks pulled free and Sting was feeling overwhelming pleasure mixed strangely with worsening pain. Sting sucked in a breath, his stimulated prostate was still making his vision swim. Rogue’s head was right next to him. Sting turned and moaned into his ear, trying to sloppily nibble on the lobe.

But Rogue pulled away too soon. Too suddenly. He yelled in frustration, then pulled out roughly and shoved Sting away from him.

Sting was left panting, his rear throbbing from the pain and his lips swollen and dry. By the time he turned around Rogue was already shrugging on his jacket and shirt, turned away from him.

Sting flashed him a smirk while he pulled his pants up and fished a cigarette out of the pocket of his torn off shirt. “Maybe, next time I’ll have to show you the other way,” he said smiling around the stick.

Rogue didn’t even spare him a glance as he buttoned up only his jacket, enough to look presentable, and began walking away. “Don’t hold your breath,” he said, his footsteps fading away down the alley.

Sting watched him walk, cigarette burning. Rogue had a very distinct gait. He walked with confidence; head held high, with hands in his pockets, as if each step was another step into glory.

Something inside Sting’s gut twisted. He hadn’t expected  _ that _ out of tonight. It was supposed to be nothing but a quick hook up. Yet still, he couldn’t stop this sinking feeling from whirling his insides together. He had felt something during that. Something more than just sex but maybe that was just him. 

Sting briefly allowed himself to wonder why Rogue had ended it so quickly. He was angry...Sting had felt the emotion radiate off him before he pulled out. He looked away when Rogue rounded the corner. He took one more drag of his cigarette, and blowing out the smoke he let all his inhibitions go with it.

 

* * *

 

_ September 3, 1935 _

“Well you look particularly happier today?” a cheery voice said as Sting walked into the station. He looked around the precinct. The sun through the blinded windows came through and shone golden on the mahogany desks. The usual morning crowd was shuffling around but it wasn’t Yukino who had greeted him. Sitting at the desk next to Yukino’s was the busty blonde who had been a new hire at the precinct for about a week, Lucy Heartfillia.

Sting hadn’t really paid much attention to her before but she seemed to be able to integrate herself among the male officers well enough. Sting silently admired that about her. Not enough to actually try and get to know her though. But it seemed Lucy was capable of doing that herself.

Sting looked at her with a raised eyebrow as he took a bite from his morning sandwich. “O’ yea?” he asked. “How do you know that, bunny blonde?” Sting joked with the nickname she had gotten the first day on the job. The good news about her embarrassment that day was that Sting was reminded to never let anyone sew bunny rabbits into his underwear then lose a contact on the floor for thirty minutes.

Lucy pouted a bit at the nickname but by now Sting was sure she was getting the idea that she wouldn’t shake it. “Every guy I’ve met carries that same face after he’s had a good night.” She gave Sting a little wink and he inhaled so quickly he nearly choked on the bread.

Suddenly someone’s hand whacked his back hard as he tried to control his coughing. He could hear Lucy snickering under the racket that the station had become. “If you let every girl get to you like that, Sting, your nighttime is gonna end up real messy.” One of his co-workers, a police officer, Natsu Dragneel said in a loud voice.

Sting groaned as he managed to stop choking. The thing about Natsu was that nothing was subtle. And everything he did was loud. It made him an outspoken person which was sometimes a good thing for keeping his morals in line. But not right now. 

Sting pounded a fist on his chest. “Fuc-fuck off, Dragneel,” he croaked out. Which sent Natsu's head back in laughter. Meanwhile Sting took his leave amidst his chuckling co-workers, saving himself from further embarrassment. He was about to walk into his office to start the day when Lucy called to him again.

“Oh, Detective Eucliffe?” she called, rushing up to Sting where he stood with the door open. Sting turned and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak. “I was looking into those files-the ones about the murders-”

Sting narrowed his eyes. “Who let you see those?” he demanded nearly making the poor secretary flinch. “Those are sensitive cases. Only office-” Sting stopped himself short. Because a certain pink haired someone had suddenly disappeared from the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Lucy scuffed the toe of her heels into the linoleum floor. “Natsu?” he asked.

Lucy nodded slightly, sheepishly. “He was just asking for my advice trying to solve the case but Detective I think I may have figured something out.”

Sting looked around the office, some of the morning workforce was still shuffling in. Sting spoke quickly, “Get in my office. We don’t discuss sensitive cases out in the open.” 

Lucy beamed at him as he held the door open and she rushed inside. He closed it with finality, moving next to the blinds by the door and completely blocking off the rest of the precinct so they could talk in private. 

Sting whirled around but before he could speak Lucy began rambling. “I knew it was weird that there were so little leads on these cases and especially with the new one-about that little girl? So I started asking around-“

“Lucy, you what?” Sting burst out. Lucy looked like she’d just been slapped as she stared at him. Before she could try defending herself Sting spoke again. “First of all, asking around about murder cases is a sure fire way to get yourself killed. If you attract even one wrong ear your life could be in danger. These aren’t petty thieves, Heartfilia. They could  _ kill _ you.”

Lucy seemed to huff at his words but she crossed her arms and continued in a steady voice. “I know how to keep myself safe, Detective. A case this empty can’t be solved alone and there’s a few people who owe me favors.”

Sting widened his eyes. He walked around Lucy until he was bracing his hands on his desk and said, “I don’t want to know what ‘owe you favors’ means. Just tell me what you got.”

A smile that shouldn’t have been there appeared on Lucy’s face. She practically bounced on her heels as she rushed to take a seat on the other side of Stings desk.

“Damien Rogers, remember him?”

Sting already felt his patience wearing thin. “The informant from the case and a suspect for arrest, yes of course I remember him, what’s your point?” 

Lucy shifted in her seat and seemed to take Stings harsh tone in stride. “Well, not many people knew him but he had a family apparently, his wife and a kid-little boy I think. I got a tip early this morning that someone who was a friend of the family didn’t see any of them return home last night.”

Sting intertwined his fingers together and sat back in his chair, letting it squeak harshly as he put his whole pressure on it. Lucy paused for a moment but soon she kept talking at a mile a minute. “I found that odd, that our one informant mysteriously vanishes before we can question him-“

Sting sighed. “Heartfillia, Damien Rogers was already skipping town. If you had read the case files you would have known-”

“No, Detective, he wasn’t.” Lucy corrected and Sting forced himself to hold his tongue. “Damien  _ told  _ everyone he was out of town to throw our scent off him, but he was here, in New York the entire time. That friend of the family told me Damien was in hiding.” 

“From the police?”

Lucy made a strange face. “Not exactly. Apparently before Damien  _ vanished- _ ” she put quotes around the word. “-he let slip that some dangerous people were after him.”

“Dangerous people?” Sting pried.

Lucy just nodded. “He didn’t say exactly who but it sounded like an organized crime unit.”

Sting thought for a moment. He had almost been expecting organized crime to pop into this case at some point. However he hesitated to accept that as the truth. The reality of it was never that simple, and Sting hardly even knew Lucy. How could he know her intel was backed and not just the fancy tales of a dreamer?

Sting sat forward, grabbing a pen from the holder on his desk and flipped open a drawer so he could fetch a pad of writing paper. “What’s the name of your informant?”

Lucy cocked her head a bit. “You don’t trust my word?”

Sting gave her a long look before replying. “Heartfillia, I don’t trust anyone. If every government operative trusted the word of any Tom, Dick or Stanley that passed his way there wouldn’t be any truth to the world. Why don’t you give me the name of your informant and I can question them myself.”

Lucy shook her head then. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.”

Sting flicked the pen back and forth in his hand aggressively. “See, that makes me trust you even less. Chief may just fire us all if he’s hounded anymore about this case. I need names and people.”

Lucy was stubborn, Sting would give her that. But he needed to do well on this case. Whether or not Chief would take his anger out on the precinct was debatable, but Sting was certain that he would be the first one to go.

Lucy sighed as she crossed her arms and legs, a representation of her obstinacy. “I can’t give you that name. But I can help you find someone else who could chase Rogers down?”

Sting sighed, “Alright fine, give me a name.”

Lucy shook her head once more. “Again, I can’t give you that. I’ll take you to them instead.”

Sting slammed his pen back down on the desk, finally having enough. “Dammit, Heartfillia, we don’t have time for this-”

Lucy stood up, ready to face Sting’s impatience. “Listen to me, Detective. My informants-” She closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. “-the people I know, are some pretty powerful people who know even more powerful people. They have to be careful who they talk to.”

“This all sounds way too cloak and dagger to be legal, what the fuck are you in on, Heartfillia?”

“I’m not in on anything-Listen, I’m trying to help you and this case!”

Sting suppressed a groan and had to compose himself before he replied. “If you end up getting us killed, know that it’ll be your fault.”

Lucy smirked at him. “A woman has her own ways of handling things, Detective. You won’t be disappointed.”

Sting sneered. “I’ll be the judge of that, get back to work Heartfillia. We’ll talk after the day is done.”

Without another word Lucy made her way out of his office. As soon as the door closed Sting let out another sigh and walked over to the whiskey on his table.  _ I’m going to need something stronger to get through today _ , he thought.

 

Rogue Cheney sat in the cold leather of his father’s office chair. The upholstery was pulled so tightly over the plush lining that Rogue’s nails left indents when his hands gripped the arms a little too harshly. He sat as straight as he could in the presence of his father. The fireplace was flickering brightly in the early morning light. It was starting to get darker by the day and that almost unnerved Rogue, as if the sun itself didn’t want to wake up in the morning.

“And you thought bringing a boy here was a good idea?” Skiadrum murmured. Pacing as he spoke, not once looking over at Rogue as he sat, stiff as a board, in the only office chair here.

“He didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Rogue countered.

“That’s what orphanages are for,  _ _ ! We have contacts in place to handle such things.” Skiadrum shouted, flinging his hands in the air in exasperation. “What are we supposed to do with a- a-  _, _ huh?”

Rogue hid away the little bit of anger that was bubbling underneath him. His father was right, he knew that. Rogue shouldn’t have brought the child here. Usually he wouldn’t have hesitated to drop useless cargo off on whoever else was willing to handle it. But Rogue didn’t do that and for the life of him he still couldn’t figure out  _ why _ ?

“I will take care of him,  _ _ .”

“ _ _ , or else I find an alternative.” Skiadrum said, finally turning to Rogue and clasping his hands behind his back with a firm stance.

Rogue swallowed despite his stoic nature. He knew what a horrible alternative his father could provide. And somehow the thought displeased him. “Of course,  _ _ .”


	3. A Night for More Than Gambling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting never would have guessed the dark haired man he picked out in a dingy bar was going to show his face again. It's only a one night stand he told himself...and it could never be anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are keeping along with the series! If you didn't know I'm posting the series Its A Gray World Afterall along with the timeline of the story. So the first two chapters of To Love or To Lose come before this third chapter. It's honestly not necessary to read TLoTL though, it's just the yukinerva aspect of the series and might give you more insight into the story and characters but this will be the main story. Also make sure you're paying attention to the dates ;) Those are important for following the storyline!  
> Enjoy~

_ September 5, 1935 - Night _

Sting shifted on his feet impatiently, fiddling again with the red tie that just kept choking him no matter how loose he made it. The evening air was brisk with a bit of a chill that came from early September rains. The streetlights of the city’s residential area glared harshly into his eyes, a stark contrast to the black sky above him.

Sting sighed and was about to light another cigarette to pass the time when the door to Heartfillia’s complex finally opened. He stopped trying to get the lighter to spark up and stared as she came down the front steps dressed to high heaven.

Sting’s eyes widened. His secretary was no longer in her white blouse and long skirt, hair curled to the nape of her neck. No. Now Lucy Heartfillia’s pale skin shone under the lamp lights like a moon reflecting the sun. If Sting didn’t know any better he’d say she had cut her hair to get it to stay that short and curl against the back of her head. Her large hips swung wide as she delicately stepped down each cement block. Sting had to admit, she looked dashing in that starry blue dress. It fit her form too well, and those white bows that were placed so daintily down her breast and across her stomach did everything for her image.

If Sting was into that kind of thing he might have even been attracted to it. As it was Lucy came down the steps smirking at the way he stared at her. She flashed those big brown eyes at him as they sparkled with illuminated golden flecks.

“You look dashing, Detective,” Lucy said. “Are you ready?”

Sting turned his attention back to the cigarette still in his mouth, trying once more to light it up. He mumbled an agreement then, once the stick flared up, he sucked in the smoke. “This is a lot of pomp and circumstance for one informant, Heartfillia. They better be worth it,” he said, the smoke blowing out of his nose and mouth at the same time.

Without a word Lucy hooked her arm in his, earning a look of mild surprise from him. She took the cigarette from his hands and spoke around her exhale, “Trust me, it will be. Just drive me to the venue, we’ll sit and have dinner, you can ask whatever silly questions you want, and this will go over smoothly.”

Sting scoffed as he took the cigarette back. He began leading Lucy to his car that was still parked by the curb of the sidewalk. 

It took five minutes to drive to the venue but the entire ride was spent in near silence. Lucy was fidgeting so much that it began to drive Sting crazy. By the time she told him to pull over at the new Rainbow Room restaurant, Sting put the car in park and looked at her intensely.

Sensing his hesitation she caught his eye. “What?”

Sting resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t act like that, what’s wrong?”

Lucy huffed and turned her gaze back to the entrance of the restaurant. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said.

“That’s a lie. I’ve seen guiltier criminals than you squirm less in the backseat of this cruiser. Tell me what it is.”

Finally Lucy exhaled deeply and dropped her gaze. “Detective, there’s a few things you should know before we go in there.” Sting quirked an eyebrow but he let Lucy continue. “The informant is also a friend of my father. And gathering intel wasn’t my only reason for setting up this dinner…” She trailed off.

Sting put a hand on her shoulder, urging her to continue without words.

She took a moment, then in one breath, said. “You have to pretend to be my date so I can trick my father into thinking I have a husband.”

“WHAT?!” Sting shouted so loud he was positive it could be heard outside the car. A few passerby’s gave the car a wide berth. “What the hell, Heartfillia?! I’m not going to pretend to be your date!”

Lucy turned to him and hung onto his arm. “Oh, please, Detective! I really need my father to think this or else he may force me back to the estate.”

Sting turned from her, disgusted with the fact that he couldn’t shake her off in the small confines. “Your father can go kiss my-”

“Detective!” She interrupted and Sting glared at her. “I didn’t lie, the informant  _ is _ inside and they  _ do _ know Damien Rogers. I just need you to do this for me and I promise during dinner you can ask her whatever you want.”

Sting looked over at Lucy, “Oh, so it’s a ‘her’ now? That’s more than you’ve told me before about this informant.”

Lucy pouted, either from his comment or her own slip up, he couldn’t tell. “A service for a service. That’s fair isn’t it?”

This time Sting didn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. “That’s a pretty big service to ask.”

“So is yours,” Lucy countered. “I’m sticking my neck out in front of my wealthy, snobby family so you can solve this case and keep your job.”

Sting stared out the windshield for a few moments. Finally he sighed and yanked the keys from the ignition. “Fine,” he said already opening the door. Before he exited, however, he whirled around and wagged a finger at Lucy. “But  _ only _ for tonight.”

Lucy gave him a wink. “Only tonight, Detective.”

 

The inside of the Rainbow Room was even more extravagant than Sting was expecting. Sting never would have guessed, judging from the neon, ribbed-style sign outside that the interior was nothing but the finest, clearest glass structures. There was a compass rose in the middle of a large cleared off dark cherry wood flooring. Every other table circled the compass rose in perfect symmetry. On the far corner there was a raised deck with more seating, mirrors making up it’s raised wall so the room looked bigger than it was.

It was only eight o’clock and already patrons were chatting respectively as their silverware clinked like a chorus of small, continuous cricket songs. Lucy’s posture changed as they entered.

She walked taller, held her head higher. Even the way she placed each foot in front of the other suggested some form of overt control over her body. There was a doorman waiting for them to enter, dressed just as fancy as Sting was. 

He greeted Lucy with a smile and said, “Ah, M-Miss Heartfillia. Your father is waiting for you by ta-table nine.” He gestured to the right, where the raised deck of tables looked out over New York City’s skyline. Lucy didn’t seem phased by his stuttering, the way the man held himself it almost felt natural.

Lucy bowed her head a little in greeting, “Thank you, Nadi.” Then she turned back to Sting and stared intensely at him. Sting stood still, wondering why she was looking at him the way she was. Finally Lucy’s stare intensified and he noticed even the doorman Nadi was looking at him strangely. Clenching her teeth Lucy mouthed the word ‘ _ tip _ ’ and Sting finally got the hint.

“My dearest apologies, good sir,” he said in his best mannered voice. He reached into his pant’s pocket and fished out a hefty tip. Suddenly Sting wasn’t so sure he could afford this place.

Nadi accepted the money with a dip of his dark, narrow head and a side eye that made Sting cringe. Lucy saved them from his incompetence when she hooked her arm in the crook of his elbow and pushed them forward.

She walked as if she knew this place like the back of her hand. As if she truly belonged here and had never been anywhere else in her life. Sting placed a hand on top of her arm and gripped it inconspicuously. As they walked he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You definitely still owe me for this.”

Tepidly Lucy let out a laugh as if he had just told a bad joke, and she was merely trying to make him feel better about it. “We’ll see about that once the night is over,” she said.

Sting willed himself to put on his bravest face as table nine got closer.  _ It’s fine Eucliffe _ , he told himself.  _ You’re just at another bar...a much fancier, more expensive bar. _ His thoughts began swirling.  _ You’re just going to seduce another man to have sex with you. You just have to make them like you _ ...Sting kicked himself for that awful analogy but he had to get through this somehow.

Sitting at table nine was a man who only vaguely resembled Lucy. The sides of his hair were already graying but he kept a very clean cut mustache that had yet to show his age. He had a stern face, eyes locking onto Lucy and Sting from far across the room and narrowing as they approached. Sting may not have been on the force a long time, three years in fact, but he had seen a lot of intimidating men. Still Mr. Heartfillia may have been the scariest man Sting had to face.

_ How the hell am I supposed to pretend to be her husband? _ Sting wondered as his smile lit up. Lucy’s father stood up when they approached, and offered Sting a hand.

“Hello Lucy,” he said glancing to his daughter. Then he looked at Sting. “Pleased to meet the man my daughter’s engaged with. Call me Jude.” When he spoke his voice was raspy with age but loud and clearly articulated, as if he were trying to cling onto a youth long past.

Sting took his hand without hesitation. “Pleasure’s all mine. Call me-” Sting paused for a moment. Suddenly he wondered if Jude would accept a first name as strange as the one he picked for himself. Butterflies ate at his stomach and he had to fight to keep his smile genuine as he said, “Sting Eucliffe, sir.”

Much to Sting’s delight Jude bellowed, a sound that felt loud and out of place in the otherwise respectfully murmured dining room. “A fine name, boy!” he said.

Sting chuckled lightly with him, more out of nerves than anything. His gaze flicked to the other person seated at the table for the first time. She was glowing under the white light of the glass chandelier, and looked just as fancy as Lucy, perhaps even more. Her long, fire red hair had been straightened and pinned up into an intricate braid crown. She wore a long purple dress with a ruffled thin fabric that draped over her slender shoulders so that whenever she moved her dress twirled around her.

Sting locked eyes with her for a tense moment. Her gaze was sharp, and her eyes seemed to narrow ever so slightly until she was looking at him through her long eyelashes. Sting lost his composure under her gaze for a moment. That wasn’t a normal look.

It was almost as if she wanted to dissect him, to peer into his soul, his intentions and his mind. Sting was positive that if she didn’t like what she found he would be left on a street corner, bleeding out. Was this the informant Lucy mentioned? Sting forced a smile anyway and extended a hand.

She held out her own, palm facing down, so he could kiss her knuckles. “Sting, Miss. Pleased to meet you,” he said staring her down with just as much intensity as his lips grazed her soft skin.

Jude rumbled an introduction loudly while Sting pulled Lucy’s chair out for her. “Meet Miss Scarlet. She’s a close friend of the family,” Jude said as Lucy sat and exchanged a head nod by way of greeting with Miss Scarlet.

“Please, call me Erza,” she said, her intense stare gone, replaced by a feigned innocence. Sting immediately didn’t trust her, but he nodded and smiled politely at her. Once they were all seated Jude began the conversation.

“Well, Sting,” he said, taking his napkin and folding it onto his lap. “My daughter tells me you’re a lawyer?”

Sting resisted the urge to shoot Lucy a look. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her staring at him. He looked her way, opening his mouth while trying to read her expression at the same time. This all seemed way too coordinated. Lucy must have planned every aspect of tonight.

“Ah, yes,” Sting said giving into the lie. “I work for-uh-” Sting cast a glance around the room, casually reaching for his glass already full of water as he did. In a split second his eyes flicked to the wine bottle that waited, unopened, on the table. A bottle of  _ Huet Vouvrey _ .

“-Huet Firms. Uh, The Huet Firms building…” He paused to take a sip of the water. Why was his throat already parched? “You may know the building. Down on Water Street?” Sting said choosing the busiest street he knew off the top of his head.

Sting’s stomach settled when Jude nodded as if he understood. “I’m sure I’d recognize the building if we saw it. I do not grace Water Street all that often, you see. My business is marketing and we have a headquarters in Manhattan. If I ever find myself by Long Island though I’ll be sure to look you up.”

Sting nodded dutifully, he messily navigated one lie tonight. So far, so good.

Lucy smiled at her father from across the table. Jude carried on, “A lawyer, then. I imagine some recent events are keeping you quite busy? All these murders going on, I’m afraid Lucy just isn’t safe anymore.”

Sting put down his glass and hummed an agreement. “Well no one’s been pulled in for trail on the murder cases yet,” Sting began. “But I have been questioned from time to time for y’know, legal advice. Sometimes the station benefits from having an extra set of eyes on potential suspects.”

Erza seemed interested in this fact, enough to put down her menu and say, “You think the station is close to finding the culprits?”

Sting looked her way, “Now, I didn’t say that-” he leaned over the table and continued in a hushed voice. “-but just between you and me, there’s been whispers of an organized crime syndicate down in the rougher alleys of New York. But the one lead the station had disappeared. In fact I was just called in earlier today to ask if I had seen him.”

Sting commanded his voice and the conversation at the table. He was hoping, that by rambling so long, Erza wouldn’t suspect the lie but see him as a genuine lawyer who talks too much. Maybe by the end of tonight she would drop her guard and Sting could begin his questioning.

“Sly little bugger,” Sting went on. “Seems he’s skipped town, no ones seen him since they found that little girl down by the shoreline. Just puts more work on my table. But if I may, and if I’m not impressing my work onto you, have you seen a man named Damien Rogers?”

Erza’s eyes snapped to him harshly and Sting could almost feel the tension coming off her. But she covered it up quickly as her and Jude shared a look. “I say, my boy, I don’t even know what this man looks like,” Jude said.

“Ah, my apologies,” Sting said, searching for something in his pocket. “I happen to have a picture of him. You may have seen the BOLO for his arrest in the papers. Regardless, the precinct has been on the fritz trying to find him.” Finally finding it Sting slid the photo of Damien Rogers, one they found in his house after they searched it just yesterday.

Erza and Jude leaned forward to study the photo. Jude lifted the paper and squinted at it. Sting kept his eye on Erza, watching her reaction, as a flicker of recognition waved across her face. She cast Sting a glance once she had a good look at the photo.

“Interesting,” Erza said. “I may have seen his face around, though I’m having trouble remembering where.”

Meanwhile Jude humphed and shook his head. “I’ve never seen this man. Sure looks like a rat though.”

Jude slipped the photo back to Sting and he shrugged as he pocketed it again. “Regardless, we appreciate the effort. If you think you remember anything, Miss Scarlet, please call the precinct. They need all the help they can get.” Sting gave a chuckle and a wink at her. She responded only by keeping up her frown and stare.

_ Hard one to please _ ...Sting thought. But the way she was looking at him had him on edge. Erza had eyes just as intense as Rogue’s but in a much different way. Rogue tried to pry into his soul for no other reason than he could. Erza was trying to open up his secrets, as if she had something to hide, and needed blackmail to keep her one step ahead.

Sting cast Lucy a side glance. She widened her eyes and seemed surprised at Erza’s answer. Sting dodged the tension by placing a hand over Lucy’s on the table. “Ah, but enough about me and my ramblings. Please tell me about yourselves,” he said, smiling politely at Jude and Erza. “I’m very interested to know what you do for a living, Miss Scarlet.”

Erza smirked slightly, “Just Erza is fine. I help run the Orphan Asylum Society in Hastings-on-Hudson in Westchester County. It’s a bit north of here but it’s a fine establishment.”

Sting grabbed his glass again and raised it to her. “Very admirable, Erza. I imagine those kids keep you busy.”

Erza laughed. “Busy and growing old. I’ll start sprouting gray hairs any day now.”

Sting laughed in time with the clink of fine china around the restaurant. “With a face as pretty as yours, never.”

Erza chuckled a bit at that, but Jude seemed less than pleased. Sting chided himself under his harsh glare as Lucy giggled and playfully slapped his arm. “Darling, please. Stop flirting just for one night.”

Sting gave a nervous laugh. “Apologies, my dear. You know I have eyes only for you-” he turned to Jude. “-I’m afraid she’s right. I have a natural affinity to make friends. Nothing by it I assure you.”

Jude humphed again and said, “I’ll take your word. I daresay Lucy you’ve found quite an interesting man. I’m sure you can provide well for her?”

“I would live for nothing more, sir.” There was a pause, and on a whim Sting remembered how Lucy had said Damien Rogers had a family. If Erza dealt in kids, and Damien hasn’t been found in two days-perhaps she would know something. Sting looked her way. “An orphanage must be hard business, Erza. Enlighten me, if you will, have you had many admittees this year?”

Erza seemed to raise an eyebrow slightly but her expression was back to unreadable within seconds. “Unfortunately in these times there’s been a rise in everything bad. Most parents nowadays run out of the money to care for their children and so they get left with me. While I like to remain with a job it’s a double edged sword. We wish there was no need for orphanages but as long as there is, we remain as well.”

It was a long shot, Sting knew, but he had a horrible gut feeling about this informant. Erza Scarlet wasn’t seeming to budge an inch. Based on her reactions, however, Sting would say she was hiding something. He was about to speak again when someone walked past, then stopped short by Erza’s chair.

The table looked at the newcomer and Sting who had been taking a sip of his water, nearly spit it out. “Erza, dear. Fancy meeting here,” a familiar accented voice said.

Erza turned in her seat, standing up and clasping hands with the man beside her. “Mr. Cheney. Always a pleasure.”

Sting put down his glass, hands shaking slightly as Rogue surveyed the table. He was still dressed in that high end jacket and suit he had from last night. Sting’s eyes widened when he saw the sleeve still had a stain from landing in a puddle after Rogue unceremoniously threw it to the ground in a frenzied desire. Today it seemed Rogue had brushed his hair back. It was no longer shielding one of his eyes but was held back by a miniscule ponytail. It was almost shocking how long Rogue let his hair grow out, but Sting chopped that up to his obvious Italian upbringing.

When Rogue’s eyes locked with Sting’s he gave him a friendly smile, like a snake playing with it’s food. Erza spoke for him, “Mr. Cheney here is a close friend of mine. Mr. Cheney, this is Jude Heartfillia, his daughter Lucy and her betrothed, Sting Eucliffe.”

“Betrothed?” Rogue mimicked as he reached to shake Lucy’s hand then Sting’s. “ _ _ , that is how we say it in  _ _ .” Rogue went on as he took Jude’s hand next. “I don’t mean to interrupt, I only come because as I sit across the way with family, suddenly I spy Miss Scarlet.” He pointed behind him to a table where a man with hair as dark as his own and skin likewise as pale sits among others.

Sting has half a mind to assume that’s Rogue’s father, they almost looked like clones, except Rogue’s father was clearly larger, more muscular and with a stronger death glare that promised Sting a cell to burn in as it dragged him to hell. 

Sitting beside him was an intimidating brute of a man. With slicked back dark hair that went down to the waistline on his pants. He also had piercings in the most unusual places, his eyebrows, down his chin. Sting even caught a glint of some down his elbows. Wearing stained, almost torn clothing he certainly looked out of place in The Rainbow Room. Perhaps he was hired muscle though, judging from his buff build and over exposed muscles. Finally on the other side of the table Sting thought he saw the brown head of a small boy but the pierced man was blocking too much to see and Erza caught everyone’s attention again as she spoke.

“Now, Rogue. Sting is a lawyer, I hear.” She smiled at him and Sting forced himself to keep his composure. “But he seems like a real catch.”

Rogue gave her a nod of understanding. “Ah, of course. Now there’s little need to introduce the head of Heartfillia Managements at all,” he said turning to Jude. “Any self-respecting business man has heard of your wealthy company. And quite a feat to maintain in these trying times.”

“No need for flattery, boy. I know of our success.”

“As I’m sure you would,  _ _ ,” Rogue said. “Miss Scarlet, I won’t take up your time much longer, however, I do wish to discuss some business with you. I know the rise in orphans has been keeping you busy and I’m afraid I may need to make it more so.”

“Of course, Mr. Cheney. I will be preoccupied tonight but you know where to reach me. I’ll tell my assistants to expect you sometime soon?”

Rogue gave her a little bow. “If you would,  _ _ .” Then Rogue turned to the table and waved his goodbye. “A pleasure to meet you however brief it was. May your night proceed pleasantly.”

There was a chorus of departure and Rogue was gone almost as quickly as he’d appeared. Sting mentally took a deep breath. This seemed to be a night of torture. He wasn’t prepared to have ever seen Rogue again. Much less to see that side of him. His words and tone seemed so professional, so unlike the grunting, stoic nature he had presented that night at the bar.

Sting shook his head of thoughts. He had to focus on getting Erza to spill whatever secrets she was trying to hide without tipping Jude off or starting trouble. He was beginning to think that this case was growing into a bigger gamble every day. And this night was going to be a long one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya catch it? Did ya catch the little dynamic that Erza and Rogue have?? And how they speak in code?...sort of. More secrets to be revealed later!


	4. I Refuse to be Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting Eucliffe is determined to get to the bottom of this case. But things are about to get a lot more complicated when even Angels get caught up in the schemes of this gray world.  
> It seems Rogue Chenney can't shake Sting Eucliffe wherever he goes. It's almost as if the two are bound together by fate. But Rogue has more important things to worry about than the whims of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are ready cuz this shit is about to get d e p r e s s i n g  
> Yukino and Sorano do not deserve this.

_ September 6, 1935 - Morning _

The next morning Sting walked purposefully into the station, his gaze focused on one person he knew would be there. As always in the station, at this hour most of the foot traffic was still shuffling in but Sting knew the officer he wanted to speak to would already be at his desk.

Pouring himself over some papers was Dobengal, an old officer at the precinct, but just the person Sting needed to keep an eye on that Erza Scarlet. His head of light brown hair was messier today, not smoothed back like usual. His back was pin straight as always, drawing attention to his thin, scrawny form filled out by only his winter jacket. Dobengal was always wearing that winter jacket, even in summer but it was into the colder months that he never took the thing off, even inside. As Sting approached he planted his hands firmly on the desk, startling Dobengal into looking at him.

“Doben, I have a job for you,” Sting said by way of greeting.

“Good morning to you too, Detective,” Dobengal said, reaching for his cup of coffee.

“Erza Scarlet, works at the Orphan Asylum Society in Hastings-on-Hudson in Westchester County. You know her?”

Dobengal looked into the distance as he thought, “I could perhaps. Is she a suspect for something?”

“Just information. She may have something on that Damien Rogers but when I asked her she seemed like she was hiding something.”

Dobengal closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. “Sting, you know I love helping you, but I can’t just track someone down on every hunch you have.”

Sting scoffed as he turned and leaned backwards on the desk. “My hunches are usually right, y’know. Trust me on this one, Scarlet knows something. I just need you to keep an eye on her. Y’know, a stakeout maybe.”

Dobengal turned back to his papers. He picked them up and straightened them uselessly while he stared at the far end of the room. “I could be persuaded,” he said with a playful glance at Sting.

Sting crossed his arms. “Persuaded? I’m not going to kiss you, Doben.”

Dobengal rolled his eyes. “In your dreams, Eucliffe. No, this is your case. And you know I’ve been without a partner for a few months now…” Dobengal trailed off but he didn’t need to finish. Sting knew where this was going.

“Fair enough. We’ll take your car to the orphanage. Two-day stake out. And don’t forget the snacks.” Sting winked at him.

“You want me to use up the rest of my rations on  _ you _ ?”

Sting smirked and gave him a pat on the back. “Just remember, I saved your life once.” He didn’t wait any longer to hear Dobengal’s groan of acceptance. Sting had work to do on finding another lead. There had to be something in those case files that would reveal itself. Some evidence or clue they had overlooked. And only time would tell how this case would crack.

Sting was in his fifth hour, twelfth cigarette, and second cup of whiskey when he started feeling like he would never solve this. He had made call after call to anyone who may have seen the murder victims before their tragic end.

Jiemma had a point. Usually they chalked up murder cases as individual freak happenings, but all these cases happened within a 25 miles radius of each other, usually in old abandoned places or in squatters houses. The victims ranged from an old, rehabilitating jail bunkee to a man with zero money but lots of prior business connections from the stock market crash, to their newest, the fifteen year old daughter of two parents already previous victims in this case.

Each victim was shot in the head. Point blank. A Beretta Model .32 caliber. Each case was calculated, each body left stripped of its clothes and possessions and left in a crowded place. No one had seen the victims for a few days prior to their death. Sting found it hard to believe that whoever was doing all this was doing it alone.

He was shuffling the papers on his desk for the fiftieth time when something loud crashed into the front doors of the precinct. Sting’s gaze shot up immediately but all he saw was the faint outline of a woman in hysterics as she clung onto the nearest officer by the door.

Sting swiftly stood up and walked outside when she started yelling nonsensical words. 

“Help me, please! I don’t want to go back!” she was crying, her voice cracking wildly.

“Hey, what’s going on out here?” Sting demanded, making his voice ring around the noisy precinct.

As he approached, he caught Natsu holding onto the woman’s arms, looking back at him with his coffee spilled on the floor and confusion in his eyes. The woman was beautiful, even Sting could tell that much. She was dressed like a prostitute. Full breasts bursting under a sleeveless blouse. She wore a skirt, cut short in the front to reveal stockings up to her thighs. She had the pinched features of an orient but her silvery white hair was curled short, held back by a blue ribbon that matched her skirt.

She also had wing tattoos on her collarbone, shown off by her low neck line. She was clinging to Natsu like her life depended on it, tears in her eyes, blouse a little torn and hair tousled. Her lips were chapped beyond belief and without sleeves Sting could see a field of bumpy injection scars all over her arms. A brief thought that she reminded Sting of someone flashed across his mind, but he ignored it and opened his mouth.

Before Sting could get a word out, however, he heard the footsteps of his secretary coming around the corner of the bathroom. Everyone in the room was silent as Yukino’s heeled gait came to a halt beside Sting. She stared nervously, wide eyed, at the woman. “Sorano?” she whispered. Now Sting knew exactly who she reminded him of.

 

* * *

 

An hour later Natsu had used his last coffee rations to give something to Sorano that she could stomach. Lucy found an emergency blanket to drape over her shoulders and Yukino hadn’t left her side since she stumbled into Dobengal’s office chair.

Now Sorano was cuping her untouched coffee, head turned to the ground, deaf to the world around her. Yukino was gripping her thin, ivory wrists, rubbing a thumb into her skin. Her brown eyes were staring so deeply and intently, Sting wouldn’t be surprised if Sorano started melting under her gaze.

Sorano took a deep breath, her index fingers curling, painted nails scratching the paper cup. Sting crossed his arms and finally decided to cut the silence. “Tell us what happened, Miss. We can only help if you let us.”

Sorano just shook her head and closed her eyes shut. Yukino responded by moving closer to her and shushing her anxiety. Yukino brought a hand up to Sorano’s cheek and said, “Please, sister. At least tell me where you’ve been all this time?”

It took a while but Sorano opened her mouth, looked up at Sting with a fierce glare in her eyes and said, “I want to report the location of an opium den.” 

Rogue stomped away from the rooms of hazy smoke, and moaning patrons with a blank face. The dingy atmosphere of smoke was suffocating but also intoxicating. Nearly everyone in the opium den had their own room, but a few patrons-too eager to wait-took the drug out in the open then were left sprawled across the floor when the euphoria hit.

Rogue left the basement, walking dutifully up creaking steps. Along the way he caught a prostitute and an already sedated patron having an early session on the steep wooden steps. Disgusted Rogue pushed them away from each other and down the stairs saying, “We have rooms for this act, huh! Go find one.” The couple slunked their way down the stairs, the patrons hand never once left the prostitutes ass. Rogue straightened his jacket as he turned around and continued up the steps. “ _ _ ,” he grumbled under his breath.

He had been making decent money this night and it seemed his patrons were satisfied as well, as long as they had their drug fix. But it was ruined when one of his  _ _ came running into the front door, out of breath and panting. Rogue leaned on the bar full of people and surveyed the man as he approached all dark hair and dirty gaze.

“Gray,” Rogue said in greeting as he grabbed an abandoned gin off the counter. “You look pissed off. Like a wet cat. Why do you come here looking like this?”

Gray heaved as he grabbed Rogue’s shoulder and nearly shook him. “We gotta split, now!”

Rogue quirked an eyebrow then pushed Gray’s arm off him. “Show some respect. What the fuck are you talking about?” His heavy Italian accent was coming through in his growing annoyance.

“ _ _ ,” Gray continued, “Our little Angel ran…” Gray trailed off and let his words sink in. Rogue put down the shot of gin. “She might have gone to the police already.”

“ _ _ !” Rogue shouted. “Why did she run, huh? You not doing your job? When the fuck did this happen?”

Gray swallowed hard and didn’t meet Rogue’s gaze. “Recently,  _ _ . She said the drugs were killing her and she was abused by the man who bought her-”

“You think I care about that?” Rogue grabbed Gray’s shirt collar. “Get the patrons out of here, now!” Rogue turned and changed the atmosphere in moments as he shouted. “ _ _ !” Rogue shouted.

Gray helped by yelling, “Everyone out, the fuzz are coming!” Every patron sitting down fell off his chair, those standing ran for the nearest exit. The smart ones ran for the back exits, but the ones too tweaked out to move were left to deal with their own prison sentences.

Rogue turned to Gray again and grabbed his sleeve, “Come with me, you useless-” he cut himself off as he began to head for the back. No sooner had his feet started moving then did he see red lights flashing outside the window, dimmed through the hazy smoke inside.

Rogue cursed vehemently under his breath and ran faster, abandoning Gray where he stood. If he was a decent  _ _ he could fend for himself. Rogue, on the other hand, did not plan on getting jail time before he could take over his father’s business.

He ducked under beaded curtains and past screaming, naked men and women. He stepped over the bodies that had dropped like flies. Most were too high to realize what was going on, but awake enough to know they had to leave so they ended up crawling like they had no legs. Rogue slinked through the fog and reached the back exit within moments. He didn’t check to see if anyone was behind him as he yanked it open.

Chilly air rushed into his face, flipping his hair behind him. Through the corner of his eye he saw officers running out of their cars, heading for the bar now exposed as an opium den. Rogue sneered and ignored the bodies pushing past him as he continued towards the end of the back alley.

There was a parking lot around here somewhere, Rogue knew, that led back out onto the street. No police radar had ever captured his face, as long as he wasn’t seen leaving the establishment his name would be unaffiliated. Yet still Rogue got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The police should never have known about the existence of this place as a den. He had a rat in the family, and only time would tell if she would start spilling faces and names...among other things.

Rogue’s biggest challenge right now would be escaping. He’d have to deal with the snitch later. Regardless, though, his father would not be happy. Rogue’s feet ran over the cracked pavement of the back alley, kicking litter, needles and wine bottles as he rounded a corner.

Every building here was made of brick, towering so high above his head it gave him vertigo. But the one good thing about America was how closely cities built their office buildings and apartment complexes. It kept Rogue hidden until he reached the parking lot, open and abandoned in the dark of early night.

He could still hear the sirens a block away but there was no one else around as far as he could see. Rogue grit his teeth, shoved his hands in his pockets and walked calmly out of the parking lot. Once on the street again he smoothly blended in with all the other night owls walking, and staring at the police bust up ahead.

He would have loved to walk home normally. He would have loved to go the opposite direction of the police cruisers. But of course the only back alley had led him on a roundabout route to the street where once more, he’d have to pass by the police to continue a walk home. Not to mention, he was a little curious to see the aftermath of the bust. Rogue shrugged off his inhibitions and forced his expression to disappear as he strut forward.

He played up his arrival on the scene like he was a normal passerby, just curious to see what was happening, much like the ten other dimwits who couldn’t be bothered to walk away. He was ready for the police sending him dirty looks and asking them all to stay back. He was even ready for the sharp glances some of his patrons gave him as they spotted him on their way to the back of the police cruisers. Rogue ignored them all, he would stand there until the officers told him he could continue on his way.

What he wasn’t ready for was Sting Eucliffe commanding the bust from the middle of three different cruisers. Rogue was about to abandon all other plans and slyly slink away when Sting happened to look over and saw him standing there. Sting looked at him vaguely before he said a few words to another pink haired officer and made a beeline for Rogue.

“Sorry, we can’t let pedestrians get too close-” he started speaking before he was even within earshot; but the minute he was closer, and the flashing lights were behind him, he stopped short. A look of recognition crossed his face and to Rogue’s surprise Sting smiled at him.

“Well, interesting seeing you again,” Sting said, putting his hands in his pockets.

Rogue attempted a kind look. “ _ _ , I was only walking home from a late night out.” Rogue cast a glance at the bar, watching the flashing lights and sirens in the otherwise silent night. “Answer me this, Sting. What is a lawyer doing controlling local law enforcement?”

Sting laughed a bit and let his eyes hit the pavement. “Ah, yeah. I’m a detective, not a lawyer. The other night uh-” Sting paused as a particularly batty prostitute was taken out of the establishment, kicking and screaming in the arms of a muscular officer.

Rogue recognized her as one of his long time employees. She had always been a good associate to the family, but Rogue could spare her barely even a glance. Her shrilling screams sounded like a bullet splicing through air. It haunted the night and would have chilled Rogue’s blood if he cared enough.

“No!  _ NO _ ! I am good, I’m clean. Don’t take me-NOOO-” her cry was cut short as she was finally stuffed inside a cruiser. When the officer slammed the door she banged on the glass, her makeup running as she wailed.

Sting turned back to Rogue and the topic he meant to bring up. He leaned in closer as he said, “The other night, uh, I was undercover, y’know as a lawyer. It was for a case. Just so you didn’t think…” Sting trailed off, his bright blue eyes flicking to Rogue nervously.

A breathy scoff escaped Rogue’s nose as he whispered just loud enough for him to hear, “In case I thought you let me fuck you while you had a wife?” The look of appalment on Sting’s face was amusing to say the least. Rogue would say he was almost blushing.

“Uhm, well, among other things.” The way Sting began scratching the back of his head in embarrassment had Rogue stifling laughter. “Rogue,” Sting began, still speaking softly as if he was afraid of saying what was on his mind.

Rogue was almost afraid he would begin rambling again or bringing up the night they spent together in that alley. He hated when emotions got involved. He had taken a chance on Sting being a cute stranger, which he wouldn’t often do, but even Rogue had felt himself feel a little too attracted to the man. 

It was dangerous for him to be doing what he was. To be  _ feeling _ what he was. And Rogue wasn’t sure he had ever felt anything like he did a few nights ago. He was so conflicted with it he had practically abused Sting during sex. Angrily yanking his hair, and shoving him against the walls. Rogue had hoped it would deter the man from seeking an audience with him but he was starting to think that the universe had other plans.

To his surprise, however, Sting said, “You should be careful walking these streets at night, yeah? Dangerous things like this go down.-” He jerked his head toward the bar and patrons being arrested. “I don’t want to see you caught up in it.”

Rogue paused and stared. Was that concern he heard in Sting’s voice? The sudden appearance of it shocked him. The irony Sting didn’t know about made him want to laugh out loud. Yet the same time it made him want to scream in hopelessness. He could do one night stands, but Sting was too good to stay around monsters like Rogue Cheney.

“ _,  _ …” Rogue said, losing his voice. He began to look around for something else. The busy street with the flashing lights had attracted curious passerby, but most of them had cleared out by now, choosing to continue on their night in some other part of the city. “But just because I seem to keep seeing you everywhere, don’t think this means we are close.”

The look of hurt on Sting’s face almost made him feel bad. But the detective blinked it off rather quickly. “I can tell you’re not a fan of people. No matter. Just trying to keep the streets safe. It’s easy to find yourself vulnerable out here.” Sting hesitated before going on. His gaze flicked once to his shifting feet. “You enjoy the rest of your night. I should go back to work.” He didn’t wait for a reply before he was turning around and yelling at some officers again to get the cruisers moving to the station.

The cars soon peeled away and traveled back down the road. Rogue, like the last three civilians that had been watching, walked his separate way.


	5. Masters of Our Own Fate?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more this gray world proves to Sting Eucliffe that it can rear its ugly head and destroy the fragile happiness of a few shared people. In doing so, a ripple effect spills out into the real world; one that seems like tempest tossed waves to these minuscule insects on the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this chap came out pretty long? It has a lot of ground to cover after all! Also I apologize that there's so much Italian in this I just-Skiadrum is like born and raised in Italy for like 40 years of his life so he's not gonna drop the language ergo he speaks a lot of Italian. [EDIT] I've put hovertext in every chapter now! So you should have no problem seeing the translation to every sentence or phrase in Italian and with this I can start making Skiadrum speak more realistically full sentences in Italian so wooo! And yes I know that some of the translations look weird/have coding in them. There's something going on with the commas and apostrophes inside the coding that I can't quite figure out. I'm working on it though!  
> ANYGAY! A lot of things are happening for Sting right now and the poor boy is so caught up he almost doesn't realize it. Pls don't blame Sting for my inability to write good detectives. I know he's a little oblivious/not very...deductive? But its all going somewhere trust me.

_September 6, 1935- Night_

Back at the station, Sting was up to his knees in busywork. With so many new arrests from that bust they had to find holding cells for all of them before the proper officials could be contacted and they could be transferred to the right correctional facilities.

Most of the arrests were drug use charges, and depending on how much they had in their system they’d be either let go with a warning in favor of bigger criminals or sentenced for years of time.

Meanwhile Sorano refused to leave the station. The plan had been to call a dispatcher to bring her to a hospital, but when Sting got back she was still sitting in Dobengal’s office chair, that emergency blanket still over her, whispering insane murmurings to her sister.

After ordering Natsu to take care of the perpetrators, Sting grabbed a chair from the long abandoned desk by Dobengal’s and sat backwards in it. Sorano practically jumped upon his entrance. Yukino, still by her side, gave Sting a concerned side eye.

Sting spared Yukino a single glance before he opened his mouth, “We need to get you to a hospital,” he said to Sorano.

Sorano shook her head and dipped it down. For a brief moment he thought he saw a glimpse of her dark eyes, ripe with bags and red shot, from what Sting could only guess. Judging by the scars all over her arms though, and the way she was shaking uncontrollably doubling over in panic, he’d say she was an addict.

“Miss, you won’t be charged for this, you know?” Sting went on but it was as if he was a ghost. “We just want to help-” He reached out a hand to try and touch her but Sorano whimpered and turned away from him.

Yukino stood up then and said, “Detective, may I have a moment?” She was staring at him intensely, holding her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Sting looked up at her hesitantly. He cast one last look at Sorano before he stood up and mumbled, “Sure.”

Yukino walked stiffly, choosing a spot away from her desk and closer to the door to Sting’s office. Sting crossed his arms and looked at her seriously. “Why the hell is she still here? We have protocols to follow-”

“I know,” Yukino interrupted him, her gaze casting down to her feet. “I’m sorry. I just- I tried to get her to go but she’ll barely even look at me now. I’m sorry, Detective, my sister-” Yukino stopped herself and began rubbing her biceps. “We didn’t come from a good neighborhood. She’s been hanging around the wrong crowd for a while now. This is the first time I’ve seen her in three years.”

Sting felt his heart soften. Yukino let a few tears fall before bringing her hand up to cup her mouth and take a shaky breath. Sting put a hand on her shoulder. “Did she even tell you who she was involved with?” Yukino quickly shook her head losing herself in the emotion. “Listen, just take the rest of tonight and tomorrow off. Get her to a hospital. Figure out yourself before coming back, yeah?”

Yukino, her dimpled chin caving in as she tried to keep a straight face simply nodded. Yukino didn’t wait for more words. With dainty fingers she wiped at her eyes and sniffed loudly, forcing composure into her face. She took a deep breath then walked back over to Sorano. Sting let himself stand there for a moment to run a hand through his hair. He still felt the emotion that was washing from Yukino's dangerous state.

He let out a breath of exasperation and looked around the station a bit. Everyone was running around doing their jobs. A few perpetrators still lingered with no where else to go or no one to tell them what to do. Sting shook his head of all other inhibitions. It was time for him to do his job.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Rouge made it back to his home it was well past midnight. He still had a sour taste in his mouth from the night’s prior events. If their loyal associate Angel really had ratted them out, Rogue had a huge problem on his hands. Angel knew his face. She knew most of his __ , their  ...She could wipe out a good portion of their family with just a few names.

He couldn’t let that happen. And the more time he wasted running back home the more time the police had to find them. For all Rogue knew they were already compromised. He grit his teeth and rushed up the front cement steps. Crashing into the front door, the house was eerily quiet. Not even the stir of a servant. But he knew where his father would be.

Up on the second floor bedroom, his father had decorated the space so coldly it matched Skiadrum’s own heart. White walls faintly striped with an off-set color, gray tiled flooring, busts of previous bosses and underbosses placed every ten feet. They sat always watching. Always there.

Inside a lavish bedroom, complete with a canopy bed and dark oak furnishings was his father’s bed. He still slept on that king size mattress alone after all these years. Rogue didn’t allow himself time to think about it before he was rushing to his father’s side and shaking him awake.

“ _Pa_ _dre_ ,” Rogue began. “Wake up- __!” It didn’t take a lot to wake his father up. Skiadrum was pushing Rogue’s arm off him and sitting up before Rogue finished his sentence.

“What, what __? Do you know what time it is, huh?” Skiadrum swing his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his hair back into a crow's nest of greasy black straws.

“Just listen to me, we have a big problem.”

“And it can’t wait till morning?!” Skiadrum reprimanded. In one movement he grabbed his nighttime robe and slipped it over his naked body. He walked over to a table by the door that Rogue noticed had had scotch laid out on top of it, just waiting for a drink. “I was having good dream about hooker. What is your issue?”

Rogue resisted the urge to sneer. Putting his hands behind his back he simply said, “We have a snitch in the family.”

Skiadrum looked at him as he poured a bottle of scotch. He raised one eyebrow like Rogue was the biggest idiot in the world. “And it is not taken care of yet? What do you need me for-”

“Angel went to the _ _.” Rogue said and his father looked at him squarely. Surveying his next words.

Skiadrum took a moment to think then waved his hand in the air as if it could conjure up an image he wanted. “Remind me, she is the-ah-the silver haired whore no?”

“ __.” Rogue nodded.

Skiadrum took a sip and grimaced, but Rogue knew it wasn’t because of the alcohol. “This is shame. You know she had potential. So what-ah is she there now? How much has she said?”

“At this point _ _. But I need your permission on what we should do next. I could order a hit on the girl quite easily. Hire someone to kill her within twenty four hours. She’s already tweaked it can be an accident.”

Skiadrum paced and waved his hand dismissively. “No. No, no, no. We have drawn too much attention with all these hits on former members we must be careful about this. Give me time to think will you.” Rogue could barely give him a nod before Skiadrum was waving him out of the room saying, “And go! Go! We have no more business.”

Rogue stepped out of the room to walk way, but Skiadrum lingered at the door. “Ah, and Ryos.” Rogue turned to gaze into his steel hard eyes. “I will not forget a failure like this. We are not through yet.” Precious little was heard before Skiadrum slammed the door in Rogues face.

Rogue stood there. Stupidly staring at a closed door that had long since been closed off to him. Trying to please his father was hard enough. But it would prove even more impossible if his associates kept throwing wrenches in all his plans.

 _First Damien...now Angel_ ...Rogue thought. _This business will give me an early grave_.

 

* * *

 

 

_September 7, 1935_

Rogue thought for a long time the night before. Angel was a ticking time bomb in police custody. The last Rogue had seen of her though she’d been sick with withdrawal, beat up and inebriated, hardly able to function.

Perhaps they had a little more time than they thought they did. Rogue used that to his advantage and after talking with his father, sent a warning call to their associate within the precinct.

“If anyone wants to question the whore you will be the one to do it,” Rogue commanded. “I don’t want anyone knowing our names or faces.”

“Understood,” the gruff voice of his inside man said.

Rogue had a fitful night of sleep even knowing they had insurance protecting them from the worst. As it was he woke up before the sun did. Frustrated Rogue tossed the blankets off him and threw on a tight white tank with black workout pants and headed to the basement.

His mind was too occupied to sit still and if nothing else Rogue could always use the in-home gym his father had to keep him busy. The entire basement stretched far enough to include a spacious gym, showers and even a bar on the other end of the room.

There were punching bags, rowing machines and vaults set up which he had never really seen anyone use. His favorite was the rowing machine for its ease of use, but it had been a while since he was down here and he could use some catch up training. The punching bag could help with that.

Rogue had just barely gotten into his routine when he heard a muffled noise from beside him. His attention snapped and he caught the teardrop punching bag to stop it mid-motion. He looked around the room but he didn’t see anything immediately.

Rogue narrowed his eyes. Just when he thought it was his imagination he caught sight of movement behind one of the vaults. A tiny head of brown hair snuck around the upholstered leather.

Rogue let a sigh out through his nose. “Why are you hiding, __?” Rogue asked, beginning to unwrap his boxing bandages.

Frosch, now caught, came out clearly, looking ashamed. He shrugged in response to Rogue’s question. His fingers made themselves into little fists by his side. He wasn’t looking at Rogue, but staring at his feet, his expression hidden.

Quickly unwrapping the bandages, and dropping them on a bench beside the punching bag, Rogue murmured, “Do you think you need to hide from me? Huh?” Again Frosch shrugged. Rogue felt a small part of his patience dwindling. “I haven’t cut out your tongue yet, why don’t you speak?” he asked as he sat down on the bench with a water bottle.

This got Frosch to stare at him but the poor boy looked more scared than anything. Rogue winced at his own words. “ __. Was a poor joke.” Frosch nodded. When he still didn’t move Rogue padded the seat next to him, tossing his gym clothes to the floor.

Rogue wasn’t expecting the boy to listen but he did anyway, sitting stiffly by his side. There was a terse silence in the room until Rogue broke it. “What do you think of it here, Frosch?”

Frosch turned deep brown eyes to look at him. Still his expression was unreadable. The boy didn’t answer right away. Just continued to stare at him with a blank face.

“I appreciate men who are of few words, but holding a one-sided conversation is not so fun,” Rogue said.

“How long do I stay here?”

Rogue raised an eyebrow. “As long as a better bed is found for you. We are still in process. Tell me, __ , do you not like it here?”

Frosch looked down at his feet. “It’s better than before. No one yells at me here.”

“Did Damie-did your...adopted father ever yell at you?” Rogue asked remembering how Frosch had let slip the family he took him from wasn’t his first family.

Frosch was still for a moment. Then he nodded. “Sometimes he came home smelling like really bad alcohol. He didn’t like us very much when he did.”

Rogue was intrigued. He had known Damien dabbled in the system. Erza and him had had many conversations regarding her work before. But he had never seen him interact with those kids. Suddenly Rogue found himself wishing he could have found Frosch sooner.

“Did he ever hit you?” Frosch nodded, Rogue felt his skin begin to prickle. Rogue thought for a long moment. Frosch seemed more than okay to sit in the silence. He began kicking his legs and staring at all the exercise equipment. “ _ _,” Rogue said. “I am sorry for not finding you sooner.”

Frosch was more tense now than when he had sat down. “I don’t care…” he muttered.

Rogue leaned closer to him, unsure if he had heard right. “What?” he asked but Frosch just leapt to his feet.

“I don’t care!” Frosch shouted. Rogue was honestly surprised to hear such a loud noise come from the boy, who up until now had been small and quiet. Rogue was taken aback but Frosch continued. “I just want to go hoommee!” He drew his words out until it was a wail. “I want my mom and dad!”

Frosch was openly crying, sobbing even as he doubled over like his knees were going weak. His little fists curled and bunched up the fabric of his shirt. He seemed to collapse in on his own miniscule body. Rogue didn’t know what to do. He had never been good with children before, and it wasn’t like he’d had much practice either. Truthfully Rogue wasn’t sure there _was_ anything he could say or do that would make up for the situation he’d forced this boy in.

It was Rogue’s fault that Frosch was without a place to live. It’s Rogue’s fault that Frosch was standing here. It’s Rogue’s fault that Frosch was crying. For the first time in his life Rogue felt something, he truly _felt_ something. He thought it was guilt but he had never had his skin tingle this way before, or felt the chill up his spine. It was as if his gut were actually clenching, tightening its muscles around each other to cause him the most discomfort he could ever feel.

The past week was catching up with Rogue. His father’s strict rules, the stress of his unfaithful associates, and _soldatos_ , that damned blonde he kept running into, Frosch standing here crying with every right to blame Rogue for all of his problems.

Rogue mentally backpedaled. _Sting_...He didn’t have the time to think about a nobody like the boy with right now. It was just a one night stand, nothing more. Frosch was still crying in front of him, but all the thoughts swirling in his heads made him feel fuzzy. He was swimming into nothing the more he sat still. He was floating away from the world, no longer aware of how the world was touching him.

“ __ ,” Rogue said tenderly trying to reach out to the boy. Frosch pulled back.

“I don’t understand…” he sobbed. His breathing hitched in his throat until he was hiccuping uncontrollably. “W-Why can’t anyone st-” Hiccup. “-stay with me?”

“The world is cruel, Frosch. No one can really stay for long.”

“I hate it!” Frosch stomped his foot, his tiny cheeks streaming with tears, his long eyelashes clumped together as the whites of his eyes slowly turned red. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!” Rogue wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He might have reached out to grab onto Frosch next, but do what? Draw him into a hug? Rogue wasn’t sure he knew how. It didn’t matter much because in the next second Frosch shouted at him, “I hate _you_!”

Before Rogue could even react he was running from the room. His tiny footsteps made a stampede on the wooden flooring and up the unfinished stairs. Rogue was left staring at the space Frosch used to occupy.

He was still looking at his surroundings strangely. He still felt like he wasn’t really here at all. But at the same time Rogue felt... _something_ . He wasn’t sure what it meant. All he knew is that he didn’t like it. He wanted it to end. He wanted it all to end. Yet still, there was a little voice in his head that reassured him, _it’s already over._

 

* * *

 

 

That afternoon Sting met Yukino at the hospital. She told him before work ended the previous day that she was going to see Sorano. She looked so sad when she said it though, that Sting offered to join, and keep her sane.

He stood by the entrance to Brooklyn Hospital, fiddling with the collar of his button up. Something about this scene felt very familiar to him. Except, this time he was here for someone else’s sake. Not for his family’s.

Thankfully Sting didn’t have to wait long. After about five minutes a taxi cab pulled up and Yukino stepped out wearing her usual blue blouse and white skirt. Her heeled feet clicked slowly up to him. She walked like every step she took caused her pain, and maybe it did for all he knew.

Yukino had never told him she had a sister. In fact Sting asked her about her family once when they first met, and he was pretty sure she had deflected the subject completely. He only wished he had known it was a bad subject to bring up sooner. He knew a thing or two about bad family histories.

Yukino sighed when she finally caught up to Sting’s side. She was still looking down at her feet. “Are you ready?” Sting asked.

Yukino averted her gaze. “I think I have to be.” Then she shook her head and force snapped her eyes to meet Sting’s. “I shouldn’t be so nervous. I was here all night yesterday, it’s just-”

“How was it?” Sting asked.

“What?”

“I mean, how was she doing? Last night?” Sting resisted the urge to finger another cigarette out of his pocket. He still didn’t think it a gentlemanly thing to do to smoke in front of a lady.

Yukino shrugged. “She was...out of sorts. I was so terribly worried, I still am.” Yukino paused and took another breath. “So much can change in one night.”

Sting gave her an attempt at a hopeful smile. “It’ll be okay. I’m right here with you.”

Yukino nodded and Sting saw a small grin creep the corner of her mouth up. “Thank you. You didn’t have to come.”

Sting clapped her shoulder once, “Nonsense, I’m here as a friend and a detective. To make sure you’re okay, and to let Sorano know she’s under our protection now.”

Yukino’s sweet smile grew bigger and she took one last big breath. “Let’s go,” she said.

Inside Yukino made quick, anxious work of finding the elevator and fingering the button for the drug recovery ward. All the ride up she was tapping her foot or finger, fidgeting with every last thing she could on her outfit.

Sting made a show of scoffing. “You’re just as bad as Heartfillia,” he commented.

Yukino looked up at him in confusion, “Huh?”

Sting shook his head. “Nevermind. You don’t have to be so nervous. It’s just your sister, right?”

Yukino gave a dry laugh. “To you maybe. But I haven’t seen her in years...and we didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

Sting raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure it’s my place to pry on a co-workers personal affairs. But perhaps we’ve already broken that wall down by now.”

The elevator dinged and Yukino said firmly, “There’s no need to explore it now.” Then she was stalking out of the elevator, making a beeline for the large patients infirmary.

Sting followed suit, catching up to Yukino just as she opened the door to the room. There were twenty other hospitals beds lined up, over half of them full of sick patients. Sorano was relatively close to the entrance. Sting hardly recognized the girl who had come stumbling into their precinct tweaked, malnourished and dehydrated.

Now she was lying down, IV’s sticking out of her arms, electrocardiogram beeping in tune with her slow heart. Her long hair wasn’t messy or falling in clumps from a once pristine hairdo. It was pulled back, revealing her gaunt, ivory cheeks. Even from the doorway Sting could see the dark rings under her eyes, the scars in her arms from what looked like a lifetime of needles poking the skin, puckering the flesh in purple and brown bruises, some faded, some...not.

Sting swallowed looking at her, but Yukino walked right up to her bedside. Sorano had her eyes closed but she opened them when Yukino took her hand. There was a ghastly murmur floating through the room. Different from the usual mumblings of a crowded room. To Sting every moaning patient sounded like another face in the river of styx.

Sorano immediately took a shaky breath and smiled as she looked up at her sister. Yukino clasped her hands firmly and Sting noticed they were both shaking. He hung back by the end of the bed to let them have their space.

“How are you?” Yukino asked sweetly. Her voice visibly dropped an octave when she addressed Sorano. Sting could hear in it how much she cared about her sister.

“Is that really what you want to ask?” Sorano came back, making Yukino chuckle. Suddenly Sorano’s gaze found Sting lurking in the background. She made eye contact with him and furrowed her brow. “You’re a police officer?” she asked.

Sting took a step forward. “Detective, just here to make sure you’re in good hands.”

Sorano may have tried to hide her discomfort but she couldn’t do that well when bedridden in a hospital. Still, Sting knew it was because of him. He shifted on his feet and continued, “The uh-precinct wants to make sure you’re protected. Dope peddlers can often be-” Sting paused to search for the word. “-clingy to clients and folks that rat them out.”

He watched Sorano stiffen up and lose her eye contact. Maybe he hadn’t said the right thing? In hindsight bringing up Sorano’s obvious junkie past may not have been a good idea. A man had to be careful about what happened behind closed doors.

“I just thought the police had had enough of me today,” Sorano said.

Sting quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Sorano looked at him with wide-eyes, like she had just accidentally spilled the world’s biggest secret. “Nothing,” she said quickly. Sting wasn’t convinced at all. Did she mean she had seen someone else from the precinct today? As far as Sting knew he was the only one of his co-workers who had showed up here, and the implication that it was actually the opposite didn’t quite sit right with him. Before he could question further Yukino changed the subject.

“Sorano, when they let you out, please will you come stay with me?”

Sorano almost laughed. As it was her mouth curled into a grin and she lifted one heavily bandaged hand to pat Yukino’s head of short silver hair. “Don’t you worry about your big sister, my sweet. I’ll be fine.”

Yukino shook her head. “Sorano, don’t say that- I hate it when you-” she stopped short, biting her bottom lip and hanging her head. Sting looked at Yukino curiously until she turned around and said, “Detective. May we have a moment alone?”

“Of course,” Sting said, and ducked out of the room. The door closed with a click and he realized just how much his mind was swimming with thoughts. As much from his curiosity of Sorano’s story, as from his suspicions about another officer going to see Sorano. He hadn’t assigned anyone else to Sorano’s case but himself...perhaps Dobengal, whom as of late had been rather pushy on insisting they act like partners.

 _No_ , Sting chided himself. _Dobengal wouldn’t go without my permission or knowledge_...Sting sat down on a bench that was in a waiting room thankfully close to where Sorano and Yukino talked.

Sting figured he might as well enjoy a cigarette while he has the chance to. He grabbed the stick from his shirt pocket and lit it up. He enjoyed the bitter taste of the tobacco as he took one large inhale. Sting looked around. There was only one other person in the waiting room.

An elderly women who looked beyond mad to be waiting. She eyeballed Sting’s cigarette and he smirked. “Wanna smoke?” he asked, easily reaching the cigarette over to her direction. She was a few steps in front of him, not too far that she couldn’t reach over and take the cigarette.

The old woman sneered but she stood up and took his offer. She sucked hard, letting the embers spark up in flames, destroying a good portion of the stick. She held the smoke in her mouth, exhaling through her nose. As she exhaled she croaked out in a deep, shaky voice, “The world is ending.”

Then she handed the cigarette back to Sting, who took another puff as she walked out. Sting grinned to himself. Some folks could be so strange in the public eye. After his cigarette he stood up and walked back to Sorano’s room.

Looking in the window he could see they were still talking so he decided to wait outside the door. But waiting had never been his forte. Sting ended up eagerly pacing back and forth in front of the door, checking the window every few minutes to see if they still needed the privacy.

From what Sting could tell at least one of them was crying, he heard the light sobs through the door and a crack in someone’s voice but from the thick wood he couldn’t tell them apart.

Finally, after what felt like an hour Sting heard the door rattle open. Yukino poked her head out and looked into the hallway. Sting was in front of her in an instant. “You done having your talk?”

Yukino nodded. “I thought you might have some questions for her...but Detective,” Yukino muttered. Sting raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “Sorano said she already talked to one of the officers.”

Sting’s suspicion piqued. “Who?”

Yukino shook her head, “She wouldn’t say and when I tried to pry she was...really dodgy.” Yukino looked behind her in the room again, worriedly. Sorano had closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Listen, I’m only telling you this because I care about her. But I’m worried, Sting.” He almost winced. The title was gone and it caught him off guard.

“Sorano is hiding something from me,” Yukino continued. “I don’t know what she’s gotten herself into, but it’s not good. And more than that she refuses to let me take her in. Says she still has her pride to keep.”

Sting huffed a bit. “Pride isn’t good for anything.” He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fret, Aguria. I’ll need to ask her some questions but we’ll keep her safe.”

Yukino nodded slightly. She stepped aside and let Sting enter the room. Sorano opened her eyes at the sound of his footsteps. Sting offered a smile and a hand to her, which she stared at but didn’t take.

“You may remember me, Detective Eucliffe.”

Sorano nodded. “I remember.”

Sting awkwardly dropped his hand “Uh- right,” he said and cleared his throat. “Miss Aguria I-”

“Angel.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sorano narrowed her eyes. “Call me Angel,” she said.

Sting shared a look with Yukino who seemed to nod with only her eyes. “Angel,” Sting began again. “I want to ask you a few questions. About the drug den we busted.”

Sorano let out a long sigh, “I don’t know anything, Detective. Half the time I was hoped up on whatever they gave me, the other half I was…” She stopped.

“You were what, Angel?”

She shifted in her seat as if she were uncomfortable. “No offense, Detective-” She spit out the title as if it were poison. Sting was honestly surprised anyone could say it with that much vehemence. “But I’m not going to open up to someone I just met. Especially if that person is with the fuzz.”

Sting looked to the ground searching for his words. “Angel, I’m just trying to do my job. If we know who ran the drug house we can find them and make sure they never put anyone through what you experienced ever again.”

Sorano held a very challenging look in her eye. “Who said it wasn’t my choice.” The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Sting felt like he could slice the tension with a knife. Sorano let the silence fester a bit longer. “Detective, the world isn’t filled with bad guys and good guys. People don’t do bad things because someone forced them to. Humans are weak creatures. We give into our cravings and desires regardless of how they may hurt us. Whatever you think, these scars-” she gestured weakly to her arms where a dozen different pokes from a needle left the skin bruised, purple and brown. “Are my own doing. No one else’s.”

Sting clasped his hands together in front of him. “I did not mean to offend-”

“And you haven’t,” Sorano said, her voice was steel. “But I can’t tell you what you want to know.”

“Mis-Angel,” Sting pressed one last time. “You mentioned earlier someone else had come to see you. Someone from the station?”

Sorano almost looked caught off guard. Her pupils dilated and her lips drew the slightest bit thinner but she took a breath and said, “Much earlier. I think it was last night however, I don’t remember. I was still...medicated.”

Sting glanced at Yukino, she was standing quietly a little ways off the corner of the bed. Her hands were neatly together in front of her pleated white skirt. Yukino caught his gaze. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes seemed to glimmer an unspoken plea. But if Sorano wouldn’t talk now then pushing her probably wasn’t going to help, especially given the state she was in.

Sting grabbed his wallet out of his pocket and handed Sorano one of his business cards. “If you think you can tell us anything-anything at all-call the number on this line.”

Sorano took the card, flipping it over and eyeing it hesitantly. She nodded. “I will.”

Sting gave her a smile. “I’m sure you’d like to rest, so I’ll leave you be.” Sting turned to Yukino then. “You’ll be okay getting home?”

Yukino gave him a sweet smile. “Yes. Don’t worry, Detective. Thank you for stopping by.”

“Anytime,” he said turning to look between the sisters. “We’re here to help anyway we can.”

After that Sting took his leave. He made his way down the stairs and took them two at a time. As he exited the hospital he fished another cigarette out of his pocket, a menthol this time. Talking with Sorano left him with a lot of whirling thoughts and a sour taste in his mouth. He hoped, as he sucked in on the burning stick, that the smooth mint would calm his taste buds and his nerves. Unfortunately, Sting would find, there’s no cure for the dismal marks a cruel world leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied its all going to angst central. ALL ABOARD!


	6. Everything Feels Like a Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day another mess. Sting's not the only one wondering when this roller coaster will end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter things are finally picking up!AND I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS FINALLY CHAPTER 6 WHHAAA  
> But bear with me Sting and Rogue still have a long way to go before we reach the climax and it's going to be a wild ride! I won't ramble in the notes this chap, there's not much to say except enjoy~

_September 8, 1935 - Morning_

Sting tossed over in his bed. Morning light was filtering it’s way through his slanted blinds and cast a broken pattern of sunshine across his beige bedspread. He felt the bed sink ever so slightly as a light pressure jumped up onto the mattress and padded its way to his stomach.

Lector’s brown peppered face trotted up to him. His eyes closed and his tail flew up upon seeing Sting awake. Sting lifted one hand so Lector could push his skinny head into Sting’s palm as he scratched behind the cat’s ears.

Sting smirked to himself. _Abyssinian beauty_...he thought whenever he looked at Lector. It was a good thing he still had this cat. Sometimes Sting thought it was the only thing keeping him alive. If this little creature didn’t rely on him for protection, food, and safety, he might have ended his own life years ago.

Sting frowned as the thoughts in his head turned dark. There was still that nagging voice in his head that told him he wouldn’t have to end his life because Jiemma would do that for him if these cases weren’t solved.

Sting sighed and let his hand fall back on the mattress. Lector kept purring and plopped himself so that his long skinny body, matched up with Sting’s torso. His eyes began to close and Sting marveled at how content a cat could look. Like it didn’t know anything in the world except this moment. Sting wished he could be more like Lector.

He stared up at the ceiling, his hand now taken hostage under Lector’s purring body. It was a Sunday. Truthfully, he could lay here all day and it wouldn’t make a difference. He didn’t have work until tomorrow and Lector looked so comfortable it would almost be a shame to disturb him.

Still Sting couldn’t sit still. His mind seemed to be sailing towards darker waters the more he sat and did nothing. He took one look back at Lector who was now stretching onto his back and lifting his paws to cover his face. The picture of peace.

Sting freed his hand from under the fuzzball and gave his belly one more pat before forcing himself up. The least he could do today was look into the leads Dobengal had finally managed to scrounge together after Sting requested he look into Erza Scarlet.

After a shower and dry bagel for breakfast Sting was dialing the number for the precinct. With any luck Dobengal was working today and would be able to get the files and leads ready for him to investigate. A detective’s work was never really over.

The line rung three times then The cheery voice of Miss Lucy Heartfillia filled his ears.

“NYPD 70th Precinct, is this an emergency?” Sting recognized her service voice which was a lot higher pitched and sweet sounding than Lucy Heartfillia naturally sounded.

“At ease, dame,” Sting said letting a smirk travel up his face. “It’s Detective Eucliffe. I have a quick question.” He looked to the ground where the phone cord was tangling itself around his body as he turned from the device on the wall. Lector began rubbing against his legs once more despite already being fed. His tail curled in tandem with his back, but Sting ignored it.

“Of course, anything for you, Detective,” Lucy giggled back.

Sting almost felt uncomfortable as she easily flirted back and he cursed himself for naturally speaking so easily to people he wasn’t attracted to. He was thankful Lucy couldn’t see him wincing at himself as he said, “I had Dobengal look into someone for me. A few days ago before all that nonsense with-well you know. I wanted to ask if he was in today so I could have a look at it.”

Lucy hummed a reply before continuing. “I see him sitting at his desk. Would you like me to bring him over to talk?”

“No need. I’ll be right there,” Sting replied.

“You’re always working, Detective. Don’t you ever take a day off?”

Sting almost laughed. “No rest for the wicked.”

It took him the better half of an hour to get dressed the rest of the way, and drive past the poorer parts of the city to 60th street, where the precinct sat. Upon entering he made a beeline for Dobengal at his desk.

Just like always he was sitting with his back hunched and his overcoat on, pouring over some sort of paperwork. As Sting approached he kicked the leg of Dobengal’s desk and let it rattle. Dobengal jumped, startled, but relaxed when he saw Sting. He let out a deep breath.

“It should be illegal to sneak up on a man like that,” he said.

Sting smirked. “Payback for something in a past life.”

Dobengal shared a laugh with him, “Jokes on you, in my past life I was a buddhist monk.”

Sting rolled his eyes. “I’m certain that was the sight to see.”

Mockingly Dobengal held up one palm with thumb and forefinger together. “Zen.” They shared a chuckle before Sting put his hands down on the desk, and leaned into it. “What are you doing here anyway, slacker?” Dobengal joked a slight smile still on his lips.

“I need to know if you got any info on that Scarlet dame?”

Dobengal raised an eyebrow. “The Erza girl, huh?” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “Well, I don’t know what you wanted me to find but it looks to me like Erza Scarlet is just the owner of an orphanage down by Westchester County.”

Sting held back an inner groan. “You serious? What do we pay you for to scrape the surface of every barrel? I swear she’s hiding something. Listen-” Sting leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “-I got a tip that Damien Evans had a family. And he wasn’t skipping town after that girl’s murder like we thought he was. But Evans hasn’t been seen in days. I wanna know why, and where he is. And if somehow we can get into contact with his family we can get in contact with him.”

Dobengal’s raised eyebrow moved higher, almost to his hairline. “And you think some muffin up by the water is going to help with that?”

Sting gave Dobengal a blank look. “Humor me, Doben.”

Dobengal waved a knobby hand through his chalk brown hair and seemed to resist rolling his eyes. “I swear I’ve never worked with someone as impulsive as you. How’d you get to be a detective anyway?”

Sting shrugged. “Proof that my methods work, pally.”

“Alrighty,” Dobengal said. “I saved my rations for this so might as well put ‘em to use. Scarlet stays at the orphanage every day from what I can tell, but weekends get wonky.”

Sting narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘wonky’?”

Dobengal made a sort of noncommittal shrug and turned to his desk again. He opened a drawer and took out some folder files. In the folder was a lot of documents on Erza Scarlet, copies of her licenses and a blown up photo of her that was not very flattering at all. She stared blankly at the camera, her bright red hair now just a dull grey, pinned up above her narrow cheeks. She looked ages beyond her years.

“Well, I haven’t been able to pinpoint where she’s been going but all I can say is that every Friday Scarlet disappears into town. She tells her maids at the Orphan Asylum Society that she’s going to see friends but doesn’t come back until the weekends over.”

Sting grunted in response. He turned to lean on the table and crossed his arms. The rest of the precinct was rather quiet. Just a few other officers filling out forms, Lucy at her desk answering phones. Judging by the cruiser missing when Sting pulled into the station, he’d say that a few of them were on dispatch patrol.

He focused his attention back on Dobengal. “We’ll stake the asylum tonight, 6:30 sharp, and wait for Scarlet to wander on home. In the meantime I want you to stay updated if our birdie happens to come home early.”

“What’ll you be doing?”

“I have a few questions for Miss Heartfillia,” Sting said with a glance over at Lucy. If Dobengal was curious Sting didn’t give him a chance to ask before he strut over to Lucy Heartfillia’s desk.

She was just finishing up a phone call, with who Sting didn’t know, but she was smiling and seemed rather cheerful. Sting approached as soon as she hung up the phone. Lucy looked up at him, and said, “Hello, Detective. How was your morning?”

Sting gave a breathy scoff. “Same romp, different day.” Then he grabbed the office chair left vacant by Secretary Aguria’s desk and sat down with his leg bouncing. “Tell me more about Erza Scarlet.”

Lucy nearly choked on air. Her eyes bulged and she turned to Sting with a dismissive hand. “Shhh! You want me to just spill my associates secrets out in the open?”

Sting raised an eyebrow. “I never said secrets but now that I know you have some how ‘bout a little clarification?”

Lucy blushed brighter than a tomato. Her cheeks puffed with hot air and she narrowed her eyes. Lucy crossed her arms defiantly and turned away from him. “I’m not keen on sharing private matters with you.”

Sting had to hold himself back from making a scene. The station was still quiet and if he talked any louder all eyes would be on them. As it was he pulled his lips thin and made sure to keep his ice blue eyes trained on her.

“I have ten unsolved cases,” Sting said making sure to speak calmly and articulately. “You have no idea how behind the grind this precinct has been lately, Heartfillia. We are the _fucking police_ if we can’t work together to keep the city safe then everyone is doomed.” Lucy’s expression softened but she still wasn’t looking at him. Sting sighed. “The longer this case goes on the more I’m getting just how much this city and its people hide from the law. But I’m not playing anymore. Either you tell me what the fuck you and Scarlet are hiding or I’ll sniff it out my own way.”

Lucy thought for a long moment. She straightened in her seat and folded her hands neatly in front of her. Still keeping her gaze on the far side of the room, she said, “You don’t know anything, Detective. And as long as it stays that way you can’t threaten me.”

Sting’s skin prickled. His teeth grinded involuntarily. “It’s only a threat if you don’t cooperate.”

“I don’t sell friends out, Eucliffe. Not even you.” The look she gave him was halfway between anger and betrayal. Sting felt his hard boiled attitude begin to melt but did his best to keep his face stoic anyway.

He let out another sigh and dropped his gaze. “I won’t stop looking into this, Heartfillia. But, for your own sake, be careful-” He stood up and pushed Yukino’s office chair back under her desk. “-and don’t get caught up in trusting the wrong side.” Without another word he left the precinct. There was still someone who could give him the information he wanted. As long as he could track him down.

 

* * *

 

 

The second Rogue stepped up the cement steps and crossed under the threshold of those marble pillars he heard the sound of children screeching. A stampede of tiny feet pounded, muffled through the thick oak door of the orphanage.

He looked down at Frosch beside him. The boy hadn’t looked at him at all today. Rogue even had to get Adalina, their servant, to talk Frosch into a cab with him. During the whole ride Frosch had just stared out of the window barely moving a muscle.

Now Frosh fiddled with his new sunday best. His fingers lifted up his tiny collar needlessly. Rogue had to admit those clothes looked unnaturally big on him but it was the best they could do on such short notice. Frosch shifted from side to side and kept his head down.

Rogue’s attention was turned when the front door finally opened. Standing before them now was a young girl, perhaps younger than him. She had bright blue eyes and short platinum blonde hair that seemed to glisten like the jewelry on her neck and ears. It caught Rogue off guard for a moment.

His mind flashed back to the Great War. This girl resembled the aryan Germans Italy and the rest of the world had given millions of soldiers lives to fight. As far as he knew she was innocent, but still he found it hard to form words of polite greeting. When he didn’t introduce himself the girl scrunched her delicate eyebrows.

“May I help you, sir?” she asked with only a hint of a german accent. Despite his...differences with her kind Rogue cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Ah, _; _. My name is Rogue Chenney. I have come to speak with Miss Erza Scarlet-” his hand traveled down to Frosch and was about to rest on the boy’s shoulder but Rogue thought better of it. The result was him awkwardly gesturing to Frosch as the boy stepped forward and a little away to avoid Rogue’s falling hand.

The woman brightened up immediately and sent them both an exuberant smile. “Ah, Mr. Chenney. Erza has told me about your visit. Please, come in.” She moved out of the way and Rogue let Frosch step inside before him. The woman closed the door behind them. Still with that polite smile on her face she said, “Call me, Lisanna, sir.”

Rogue nodded to her. “Rogue,” he said.

As Lisanna turned around she walked as if to guide him and Frosch toward some inner room. She stopped short, however, when the herd of children Rogue had heard from outside came running into the room. There was five of them, without a care in the world, laughing and giggling all the way across the house.

“Children, please, we have guests!” Lisanna said to them firmly, her voice still holding a sweet undertone. Lisanna might as well have been part of the wall for all the attention the children paid her. Still, she showed more patience than Rogue had seen in anyone. She simply sighed and turned back to address her guests. “Let me take you to Miss Scarlet’s office.”

Rogue nodded his head and followed her without hesitation. Frosch seemed to take his time. Looking around at the grand staircase and the dark cherry accents to the warm sage of the wallpaper.

Erza’s office wasn’t far. Just around the corner of the foyer. When Lisanna opened it she peeked her head in the small crack and softly spoke. “Mr. Chenney is here,” Lisanna turned to look at Frosch for a moment then back into the office. “With a-”

Rogue heard Erza’s voice even from outside. “The orphan boy? Yes, show them in.”

Lisanna nodded and opened the door the rest of the way to let them inside. She gave them a smile and curtsy as they entered then closed the door behind them. Erza’s office was just as Rogue remembered it. After seven years it was still the same wallpaper, same desk, same books that lined the walls, and same swords that decorated the wall between the arched windows behind her chair.

Erza was standing by a bookshelf but walked to shake hands with Rogue when he stepped closer. He took her hand firmly. They locked eyes for only a moment before Erza turned to Frosch.

“And what is your name?”

Frosch, for the first time today, looked up at Rogue. He prompted the boy to continue with a shake of his head. “Frosch,” he said loud and clear.

Erza smiled. A sweet thing that would have made her endearing to anyone. Anyone who hadn’t seen what she could do the way Rogue had.

“How, lovely. Quite a unique name, yet I can’t place it’s origin,” Erza said. Frosch just stared at her blankly. “Ah, but how could you know either. We don’t choose our own names afterall-” She stood up and went to lean on the edge of her desk, arms crossed. “Well, Mr. Chenney I can tell you right now that I’m running out of room for these children that keep popping into my orphanage.”

Rogue averted his gaze for a few moments. “I am aware, Scarlet. I was prepared to look after the boy on my own but the business is not so-” He paused to search for the word. “-accommodating. And I myself have never been, how do you say, nurturing.” Rogue walked around the room to casually glance at small trinkets that Erza had on display. He fingered the small edge of a mini zen garden as he said, “The boy would be much more well suited in your care.”

Erza simply nodded. Her eagle eyes seemed intently focused on Frosch who again had stopped moving. He stood there blankly watching the carpet patterns as if the slight swirl of the carpet filaments would begin to move.

“I would be delighted to help anyway I can. I propose you leave the boy with me for a time being. A couple months to begin with. If he does well he may stay until a family adopts him or he grows out of our care. And if you ever change your mind before then-” Erza glanced once at Frosch for emphasis. “-He will be here.”

Rogue put on a fake grin for good manners. “Thank you, Miss Scarlet. The boy doesn’t have any belongings I’m afraid. How he comes in is all he has.”

“Not to worry. Our facilities have enough to take care of every child that we take under our wing. What I need from you is talk of paperwork and signatures.”

Rogue nodded, moving away from a small statuette of some divine looking woman bathing with a water urn. “ __ .” Rogue turned to Frosch. “ __ , please go find some playmates. This will be your new home.”

Frosch didn’t seem to hear Rogue, he didn’t even turn when being addressed, but he caught Erza’s nod of approval and walked out silently. Rogue turned then back to Erza who had already moved behind her desk. She began shuffling through a container of pre-made official forms and plopped the ones she needed on top. Rogue joined her in the plush chair by her desk.

One by one Rogue signed where he needed to but most of the papers he didn’t bother reading. Erza was trustworthy enough. By the time Rogue handled everything he was starting to feel a growing prickling sensation under his skin. He couldn’t place why or exactly where it was. It felt like something in him was rejecting itself. Still he kept his face straight as he shook Erza’s hand. He was about to pull away but Erza held his hand like a vice.

Her dark, eagle eyes stared into him. “About the bar…”

Rogue sighed. He had almost forgotten Scarlet was a beneficiary of the bar’s income that was currently defunct. “We lost the same amount of money as you, Scarlet. No name is on record for owning the bar, nothing can be traced back to us.”

Erza nodded. “I understand. It is unfortunate how things happen.” Erza’s hand was still gripping his but now it squeezed. His palm was growing clammy but he met her stare all the same. “Yet, I do not like sitting with the knowledge there is a snitch in the family. Allow me to find her and we won’t have to worry again.”

Rogue narrowed his eyes and said sharply, “No. Situation is handled, okay? Angel will not speak again.”

Erza’s stare didn’t let up but she dropped their handshake. “I don’t trust her. We have the means to eliminate liabilities-” Rogue shook his head and turned, but Erza only spoke louder. “-Just like we did with Evans-”

“Enough!” Rogue shouted. His voice paused everything. He stopped breathing. The birds outside gave one final crow call. Then Erza stopped, stunned that he could lose himself so quickly like that. Even Rogue was surprised, but his skin was prickling now and he couldn’t stop the unadulterated rage overtaking him. Rogue wanted to say more but he didn’t trust his voice not to shake. _What is wrong with me_?

Erza found her steel will again and filled the silence. “You have grown soft. I didn’t figure you the type to fancy a whore.” Her words were covered in poison.

Rogue stared at Erza, predator on predator. “You know nothing, Scarlet. Just let me do my job, ah? I don’t need more of my supposedly loyal associates throwing wrenches in my every idea.”

Erza raised an eyebrow. “It’s plan, and you don’t have to worry about my loyalty, Mr. Chenney-” she walked around the front of her desk and leaned on the wood, crossing her arms. “-But you may have to worry about your own.” Erza offered nothing more than a humorless smirk and Rogue took that as his cue to leave.

Rogue fixed the collar of his coat as he walked out. He was about to briskly walk away when something by the door made him stop dead. Frosch hadn’t gone to play with the other children at all. He must have just sat on that stool by the door the whole time because holding a conversation with him was Lisanna and Detective Sting Eucliffe.

Rogue felt himself break. This damned detective was everywhere. They all looked at Rogue as he exited Erza’s office. Sting’s blonde hair was well kempt and bounced when he moved. His blue eyes sparkled making his smile seem bigger than usual.

Rogue forced a blank look. “Sting,” he slid out easily.

Sting looked surprised to say the least, but he held a polite smile well, with maybe a little something more in those eyes that made Rogue want to break down every barrier keeping them apart. “Rogue, nice to see you again,” he said and it sounded like he genuinely meant it.

Lisanna smiled between them both. “What a small world,” she said. “To have found you two know each other.”

“Indeed,” Rogue said, albeit rather monotone. “Though I wonder what a Detective is doing here of all places.”

Sting chuckled and looked down at Frosch who had busy eyes flying between them both. Lisanna however was clueless and kept on smiling at them. “I’m not here to adopt if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m here gathering intel for a case. Detail sensitive, of course.” Rogue nodded. “But I was talking with Frosch. He mentioned he was here with you.” Sting’s blue orbs met Rogue’s reddish hazel gaze. For a moment, Rogue sensed his impending doom.

“You never mentioned you have a soft spot for kids,” Sting finished, one hand resting on Frosch’s shoulder.

Rogue eyed Frosch, unsure of what the boy may have told Sting. Judging by Sting’s reaction, he didn’t know the truth. Rogue gave a humble shrug. “The boy met with-” he hesitated. “Ah-a rather unfortunate fate. I am here to make sure he is in the best care.”

Sting smirked. “How very admirable of you.”

Lisanna spoke up then, “I was just about to tell Mr. Eucliffe about Frosch’s story, Mr. Chenney.” Rogue nodded and feigned a pleasant look. “I heard what happened to his parents through Miss Scarlet. It’s a shame really-but _ah_ -” she gasped as her attention caught to a loud crash that came from the back of the house. “I’m afraid the children are into more trouble. Please, excuse me, sirs.” She was about to walk away but she stopped and turned to Frosch. “Oh, Frosch, dear, stay where you are. I’ll be back to show you where you can be staying.”

Frosch looked once to Rogue then nodded his head and stared at his knees. Lisanna gave a curtsy before going away. Sting, still with that blasted grin on his face, said to Frosch, “Give us a minute, son.” Then he turned to Rogue. Sting placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him a bit away so Frosch couldn’t hear them.

“Rogue, I’d been meaning to ask you.” Suddenly Rogue’s mind went on overdrive. “There’s a great bakery I love to go to on 87th and 1st. You and I should sit down.” He smirked. Curse that smirk. “Have a gab over some treats.”

Rogue really should have said no. He really should have shoved Sting aside and refused to make this relationship anything personal. Instead he widened his eyes with interest and said, “I may be convinced. When are you speaking of?”

Sting looked genuinely surprised but his smile shone through nonetheless. He gave Rogue the same eyes he flashed that night at the bar. The same ones that convinced Rogue to take a chance on him in the first place. Rogue suspected then and he confirmed it now, Sting’s eyes would be the death of him.

“Tomorrow night, meet there by seven,” Sting said.

Rogue allowed a slight grin to lift up the corners of his mouth. “We shall see you then,” he said.

“Abyssinia,” Sting gave Rogue a wink before he turned away. He stopped by Frosch who still had his head down and his hands under his thighs. Rogue noticed him flashing a business card to the boy and a small whisper of, “If you ever need anything, son.” Frosch stared at the card, fingering its edges obsessively. Sting gave him a small pat on the back before he walked past them to knock on Erza’s office.

Rogue watched Erza greet him as she does all new patrons. They talked briefly. Rogue gave them a wave when Sting and Erza looked his way. He turned his head after they walked inside the office, and focused on Frosch. He knelt down beside the boy. For the first time, watching the boy’s sad gaze left a bitter taste in his mouth. He almost regretted the life that Rogue was subjecting him to.

“Look at me, _piccolo_ ,” Rogue said. Frosch’s long eyelashes flicked up but his face was still hidden behind much of his brown hair. Rogue put a hooked finger under the boys chin and forced his head up. “Ah, I said look at me.” He tried to search Frosch’s eyes for any emotion he could find but the boy was harder to read than morse code. “You will find better family here, ah? I promise.” Frosch gave the ghost of a nod. Rogue dropped his hand to the boy’s knee. “Let me leave you with some advice, __. Don’t trust anyone but you. This world is dark and full of terrible people. Only you will remain loyal to you.”

“Are you saying that because you don’t trust that police man?”

Frosch’s question caught Rogue off guard. “That is-”

“You killed my papa.” Rogue felt himself go cold. The children were still screaming somewhere else in the house. Rogue could hear Lisanna scolding them from a few rooms away. But right here they stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment. In the tense silence Rogue gave Frosch’s knee a hard squeeze. The boy swallowed hard, but he kept his bravado. “I don’t want to be here.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow. “There is nothing I can do, _piccolo_. My business does not allow, shall we say, interruptions.”

“You can make exceptions. Papa said your kind of people always do.” His voice grew higher, almost pleading and Rogue was surprised to hear it. It was so opposite of Frosch’s attitude towards him this morning.

“There are no exceptions for this, __ . _ _, Frosch. Trust only-” Rogue finished his sentence by poking a finger into his small chest. Frosch didn’t say anything else and Rogue was out of ways to say goodbye.

He gave Frosch one last squeeze on his knee cap before he stood up and opened the door. Rogue was halfway out when he looked over involuntarily. But Frosch had already left the stool by the front doorway. It took great effort to harden his will and step down those cement steps. He walked briskly into the coming winter air. Whatever happened next, to Frosch, to him, to Sting, a lot of things were complicated and Rogue had his work cut out for him if he wanted to stay out of trouble.

 


	7. The World's Full of Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And in one single day the life Sting thought he was pursuing crumbles in front of him bit by bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know this chap was late and sorry about that. I need some time to figure out where the story is going/catch up to what I'm posting so after this chapter I'll be updating every TWO weeks instead of every week. SO next update if I can finish it in time will be Feb 2. Hope you all look forward to it because this fic is only going to get more intense know that the main storyline has kicked off!  
> Also after this chapter the content rating is changing to explicit cuz like this is getting pretty fucked up. I literally describe a dead body so TW and also just general warning. I get graphic. :o

_ September 9 1935 - Morning _

That morning might have been the worst morning Sting had ever had in the station. From the moment he got in it was chaos that turned into broken theories due to a dead body. Sting scrunched his nose. 

These murders were really getting old. He couldn’t be sure yet how long the body had been sitting up against the wall of this abandoned shanty, naked, but it was more than a few days Sting could tell that much.

Dobengal guessed at least a week. And much to Sting’s dismay the severely decomposed body somewhat matched the facial structure for Damien Evans.

“He’ll have to be taken to the coroner for analysis, but Eucliffe,” Dobengal began, putting a useless hand on Sting’s shoulder. “This may just be the bloke you was looking for.”

Sting’s teeth grit. His fists balled, crinkling the black and white picture of Damien Evans they had for comparison. Dobengal gave his shoulder a squeeze then turned away when Natsu began talking to him about the coroner.

Sting rubbed the stubble on his chin with his free hand. Damien’s body was nearly unrecognizable. Its skin was held in a repulsive middle ground between red and green. Blisters had taken over much of the surface area but they had nearly all popped, oozing brown, almost black blood. His eyes were sunken in, a sickly gray color surrounded their wrinkled skin and the blue orbs were glossed over, staring at some dark hell far beyond them all.

Sting felt his gag reflex acting up, the smell of rotting meat was everywhere and he couldn’t ignore it. The police had come in wearing masks and still one of them puked on sight. Sting even felt it oozing into his clothes now. It left him sweaty and sticky with a lot of questionable bodily substances.

He stood up and looked away.  _ Everything is fucked _ ...Was his first thought. Sting pulled his mask back over his mouth but it did little good. The scent was so strong he could taste it and he felt his eyes begin to water. No wonder the tenants of this complex had been complaining about smell.

“Uh, Detective?” he heard Dobengal’s voice call to him. Swallowing the bile that threatened to upheave from his throat he crumpled the photo of Damien further and threw it at the puddle of blood slowly creeping out of Damien’s limp hand.

He turned. Dobengal was waiting with a nervous look and a hand scratching the back of his neck. “If these fingerprints come back belonging to Damien Evans…” He paused and Sting stared blankly. “What are we gonna do?”

Sting took a deep breath. “We’re going to take this case into our own hands,” he said resolutely. “I’m tired of waitin’ for information to just hop our way. We need answers and we need them now.”

Sting rubbed at his jaw then walked a bit past Dobengal to shout at Natsu who was talking into a radio. “Make sure this body is taken care of.” Natsu just squinted at him but he nodded. Sting turned to Dobengal. “You’re coming with me. Get in the car.” He fast walked to the cruiser they had parked on the side of the road. He didn’t wait to see if Dobengal followed; he knew he had. As Sting passed Natsu standing by the other cruiser he added, “And don’t let any civilians get close.”

Dobengal opened the door and hurriedly got in the car by the time Sting had its engines revved. “Where are we going?”

“Scarlet told me once that no orphans with the last name Evans showed up at her gate. I don’t believe her. So let’s go find out,” Sting said as he tore away from the curb, and into the flow of the streets.

 

* * *

 

 

They ended up waiting, staked out, about a hundred feet from the entrance of the Orphan Asylum Society. All the activity Sting had to account for after two hours of waiting was that white haired german maid coming to and fro with groceries and a lot of children screaming around the front lawn while another german maid-looking like Lisanna’s sister-ran around coraling them. Sting could just barely see their interactions through the wrought iron gate and the tall hedge surrounding the entire property.

Sting’s patience was wearing thin by the time he got a buzz on the radio. It came from the station but sounded like Natsu’s voice underneath all the static, and it was calling for Dobengal. “Central calling Bravo33,” the voice on the radio said.

Dobengal was about to reach for the radio when Sting ripped it off the dash, turned the call to private, and answered instead, his eye trained on the front entrance of the orphanage. “This is Delta12 sitting with Bravo33 what’s central’s request?”

“Ah,” Natsu said his voice fuzzy and deeper over radio. “Delta12 you’ll wanna know that Evans' analysis came back positive for a family.” Sting paused and shared a raised eyebrow with Dobengal. If he was honest with himself Sting was just as surprised as him. “You were right, Evans had a kid.”

Sting looked back at the orphanage. “You got names for me?”

“Wife went by Delilah, he had a son named Frosch. Neither have been seen since Evans skipped town.”

Sting’s blood ran cold. The answer he wanted had been right under his nose. And Rogue...Rogue had known the boy, he had been the one to single handedly deliver him to the orphanage. How much did Rogue really know then? Sting lost touch with the rest of the world. It was a perfect storm. 

Given Sting’s luck of course, Rogue Chenney would have chosen this moment to walk around the corner of the building and head up the orphanage’s cement steps, hands in his pockets as the blustery wind blew his coat open.

“Delta12?” he heard Natsu call. Dobengal even snapped a finger in front of his face repeatedly to get his attention.

“Thank you for the update, Central,” Sting replied, his blue eyes never leaving Rogue’s form, even as it disappeared into the building. “Over and out.”

The “roger” on the other line was a whisper lost in his screaming mind as Sting slammed the radio talkie back on the dash, He wrestled with the door handle in his panic to throw it open. Dobengal’s eyes went wide as he followed suit.

“Detective?” Dobengal asked.

“I can’t believe it,” Sting whispered angrily as he stepped carelessly towards the building.

“Detective-” Dobengal grabbed Sting’s shoulder and forced him to wait while he said, “What are you thinking?”

Sting searched Dobengal’s eyes, flicking back and forth between his pupils restlessly. Sting really wondered about how Rogue could be involved in all of this. Just his luck that the only man he let himself feel for was caught up in a murder case. For both their sakes Sting prayed that Rogue was innocent. That he had just found the boy alone somewhere and acted as a good samaritan by bringing him to an orphanage. But years of scorn told him the truth was never that easy to swallow.

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Was it prudent to spill everything to Dobengal? Neither of them had a partner right now, though they had always acted like partners. Sting wasn’t usually open about his personal life except now it collided with his work and made things a bit more than complicated. His mind raced with memories. Rogue at the Rainbow Room speaking with Erza Scarlet when Sting was supposed to be getting information from her. Rogue showing up at the drug bust like some civilian on a late night walk, and now Rogue dropping Frosch off at the orphanage. It was too much, he had been seen nearly everywhere as soon as Sting started this new case. It left a horrible gut churning feeling in his stomach.

Sting’s fists curled involuntarily. Dobengal furrowed his brow in concern. “You’re white as a sheet, what the hell’s got you so razzled?”

Sting took a breath and his eyes flicked to the side to catch a glance of the orphanage. It seemed the white haired siblings had all taken the children inside and now the lawn sat empty; accompanied only by pigeons pecking the dewy soil.

“I can’t answer anything yet,” Sting said. Dobengal would never understand the story if he tried to tell it now. “But that man who just walked in may be a suspect.” Sting paused to think. “He dropped Frosch Evans off at  _ this _ orphanage. We need to know what’s going on inside there.”

Dobengal seemed even more confused but Sting was staring so intently at him that he closed his mouth and swallowed any protests. He nodded solemnly, a sign that, despite whatever doubts he had, he would stay quiet and trust Sting through them.

Sting turned back to the orphanage. “Scarlet has a window in her office. I want to go there, and find out what they’re discussing.”

“Alright, follow me,” Dobengal said and Sting let him take the lead. Dobengal, afterall was much better at being unseen than Sting ever could be. Oftentimes Dobengal would be near silent as he walked, almost like a snake slithering up to its prey.

They stayed low behind the hedge that surrounded the orphanage. It wasn’t hard to sneak down below the windows and round the side of the building to get to the window which sat on the back wall of Erza Scarlet’s office.

As soon as they approached someone closed the curtains but the window was thin enough that they could hear a muffled conversation. Sting raised a finger to his lips. He and Dobengal listened in silence, neither daring to move a muscle.

It was hard to discern the beginning of the conversation but eventually Sting heard Rogue’s voice. “And Frosch? How is he faring?”

“The boy is timid,” Erza replied. “Does not even speak to our caretakers let alone the other children.”

A broken sound came out of Rogue’s throat. “I’m getting the sense he’s-ah always been that way.” Rogue’s voice was cold, calculating, yet somehow sad at the same time.

There was more hushed conversation and Sting pressed his ear closer to the edge of the glass, careful not to touch it or leave smudges on the window. “She won’t be a problem, Scarlet, trust me in this, ah?” Rogue’s voice came back into focus. It was all Sting could do just to hear the smallest parts of their conversation.

“I do trust you, Mr. Chenney, but even I know leaving a liability alive and on the run is bad for business.” Sting and Dobengal shared a strange look, but kept listening. 

“There is nothing I can do, boss does not wish to bring attention to our operations with more,” Rogue paused. “Ah. Well, you know.”

Erza’s voice replied firm, but thin as a sheet of metal. “I know very well, Mr. Chenney. But we are a ma-”

Erza cut out because just before she was about to speak there came a pounding on the door. Even from outside Sting could hear the children scream and the frantic shout that must have come from Lisanna. She was calling for her headmistress.

Vaguely Sting heard Erza, with a rather disgruntled voice, say, “We will discuss further plans later, Mr. Chenney. Office hours are busy as you know.” The banging came again and this time Lisanna sounded desperate, and very, very apologetic.

“What is it, Lisanna?” Erza’s voice came as she opened the door. Her tone was firm, already exasperated from being interrupted.

“I-I’m so sorry, Miss Scarlet. The boy, the new one, he won’t stop crying and his hair is a mess.”

There was an edge to Erza’s voice as she replied. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, Miss, you’d better come see,” Lisanna said. “The other kids, they won’t stop picking on him.” The two’s voices were already disappearing as they went out of the room.

After a few moments of silence Sting was about to speak when he heard a noise like someone shuffling around Erza’s office. It was muffled but still there. Dobengal opened his mouth but Sting raised a finger to silence him and kept listening. 

It sounded like footsteps and they were getting closer. Sting pushed Dobengal down under the window just in time for the curtains to fly wide open. Sting dared to crane his neck up and saw the shadowy form of Rogue standing and squinting at the outside world.

Sting’s heart pounded so loud he could feel it in his throat. Surely, he thought, if Dobengal happened to look at him he would see the soft pulse his chest made as they hid. After a while Rogue must have lost interest because he turned on his heel and closed the door on his way out.

Both Sting and Dobengal breathed a sigh of relief once they were alone again. They stared at each other, neither looking sure of what to say or do. Eventually Sting stole one last glance at the office now on display for the world outside. “We’d better get back to the car,” he said. “Central will want to hear of Frosch Evans whereabouts.” Dobengal only nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

Rogue turned from the window with a sour taste on his lips. He was almost positive he had seen shadows moving beyond those beige curtains. But this side of the building was pointed at the untamed wilderness, it didn’t look at some busy street or alleyway. How could anyone have been there?

Rogue wasn’t sure but nonetheless a sense of dread rose up inside him. He pushed it down with every step as he walked briskly after the orphanage caretakers. Lisanna had been talking about Frosch. What could the boy have gotten into now so soon after being left here alone?

Rogue gritted his teeth as he walked into the great living room where he heard Lisanna and Erza trying to speak over a small boys wails and incomprehensible murmurings. Frosch was sitting on the floor his back against the side of the couch arm. He was certainly crying uncontrollably, his eyes red, chin curling in on itself, and he was hiccuping sobs while trying to speak in broken patterns.

But what shocked Rogue the most about the sight was Frosch’s hair. It was no longer the dusty brown it was before. Instead it was green. A bright green just like the leaves on the trees in summertime. It was sticking up everywhere, even the back of his head seemed spiked like he had slept on it wrong then applied hairspray to the mess.

Erza was trying to get the boy’s attention with a soft whispering and motherly voice while Lisanna watched, biting her nails from afar. All Frosch could get out was a lot of broken sobbing and something that sounded like “The others are so mean”.

Erza tried reaching a hand out to Frosch but he squirmed away, shaking his head violently. With his eyes still squinted shut he got up and ran, but Rogue was in his way. Frosch collided with him, and he noticed that Frosch’s hair was still wet from whatever had been put in it.

Slowly the small boy looked up at Rogue. They shared a few seconds of stunned silence. Then Frosch’s tears began again and he grabbed onto Rogue’s torso tightly. His sobs continued again.

Rogue narrowed his eyes at Erza who stood up and remarked, “I think the boy has taken to you.”

Rogue resisted the urge to sneer. He didn’t like children. They unsettled him more than anything, but this orphan boy was clearly so upset that he would cling to anyone. Even the man who murdered his adopted parents in cold blood.

Rogue didn’t know what to do. He settled on prying Frosch off him and kneeling to hold the boy at arm’s length. “Breathe,  _ _ , breathe,” Rogue repeated until Frosch did as he said. He was still hiccuping after but the tears had stopped falling and he was quieter. “Tell me, ah, what did they do to you?”

For a moment Rogue feared the water works were going to start all over again. But Frosch just sniffled once, twice, and opened his watery mouth. “ _ Hu _ -Thu-they held me do- _ hu _ -wn,” he began between hiccups. “And the big one  _ hu _ -had scissors, and they- _ hu _ -had a bottle and  _ hu _ -held me down wh _ -hu _ -ile they put more  _ hu _ -in and-” his shaking fingers went up to touch his hair, but Frosch broke down into more sobs before he could finish.

It was true, his hair looked chopped, mussed up with a millions different chemicals until it turned this forest green hue. Rogue hardened his expression as he stood up and looked at Erza again.

“Is this how your children treat each other?” Rogue asked a surprising edge in his voice.

Erza frowned and shook her head. “I can assure you Mr. Chenney, they will be found and punished accordingly.”

Rogue let his hand rest on Frosch’s shoulder and the boy hugged his stomach again, small arms barely reaching around to his back. “There will be no need. I have made my decision and Frosch will be coming to live with me.”

Erza raised an eyebrow but folded her hands in front of her. “You’d like to adopt him?”

Rogue looked down at Frosch. His stomach churned violently. There was a voice in the back of his head reprimanding him for everything he was saying but he didn’t stop himself. Looking at Frosch crying into his clothes solidified his reasoning. Rogue caught Erza’s sharp gaze once more. “Yes,” he said.

“Lisanna, dear,” Erza began to a very shocked Lisanna. “Fetch the paperwork, please.” The maid merely nodded, eyes wide she scampered off down the hallway, but not without glancing over her shoulder a few times.

While Lisanna left the room Erza stepped up to Rogue and Frosch. When she spoke it was slow and articulate, like she had chosen her words carefully and deliberately. “I hope you are aware of the path you take. If you are not careful this boy can ruin everything for us.”

Rogue’s hand tightened its hold on Frosch’s shoulder. Frosch, in turn, clutched the fabric of his overcoat harder. “He is safer where I can keep an eye on him. We do not deal in child murder, Scarlet.”

Erza’s frown deepened. “I was not suggesting such a thing, certainly. That is what I am here for. If you are not careful you could raise him to be a traitor of the family.”

“What do you mean to imply about me, ah?”

Erza turned her head down the hall. Lisanna still hadn’t returned but they both knew she was bound to come rushing back any second. “I simply do not believe a man with the relationship you have with this boy to be the best  _ fit _ for a parental figure.”

Rogue held her stare but he couldn’t reply because Lisanna came bustling down the hall again, papers rustling as she walked with them. “Shall we continue this in your office, Miss?” She asked, presenting Erza the forms.

Erza gave Rogue one last warning look before she turned a sweet smile to her maid. “Certainly,” she said in her nicest tone. Erza had flipped a switch and she was like an entirely different person. Even after years of knowing her this switch in her personalities still unnerved Rogue. “Be a dear and get Mr. Evans cleaned up for his new home.”

Lisanna nodded. It took both Rogue’s prompting and Lisanna’s soothing words to get Frosch pried off him. When he did he didn’t take his eyes off Rogue, even as he rounded the hallway corner to the wash rooms.

Rogue and Erza meanwhile talked little; only formal requirements about the adoption. No more talk than was needed. Despite what he expected, Rogue’s hand didn’t even shake as he signed away Frosch’s life to a family of monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls cry with me in the comments about Frosch T-T this boy deserved more than what I gave him. but at least hes not with those mean orphan kids right?? RIgHt??!


	8. A Genuine Breach of Sanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new agent shoulders his way into Sting's case. Not to mention the "date" that Sting has convinced Rogue to go on. Together with the bossy new agent helping him out Sting finds a way to check on Rogue's alibis for Frosch's adoption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realize that I'm late to update and that's just cause I'm dumb and forgot. BUT! It's only a day hopefully you'll forgive me -w-  
> Things are really starting to heat up now and with every new chapter the hole gets dug deeper for Sting and Rogue. Just know that soon shitake mushrooms are gonna be hitting the fan!  
> ALSO! BIG SHOUTOUT AND THANK YOU TO @dreaming_of_fairies on tumblr who made the amazing aesthetic for my fic that you'll see at the bottom of the chapter! LIKE SERIOUSLY IT LOOKS SO GOOD AND AAAHH SETS SUCH A THEME THANK YOU THANK YOU EVERRR!

_ September 9, 1935 _

By the time Sting got back to the police station he had been expecting a flood of questions, maybe a team of officers ready to knock on Rogue Chenney’s door and bring him in for interrogation. At the very least someone who would speak with him about Frosch Evans’ whereabouts and bring the child into proper custody.

Sting was still racking his brain on how a new adoption with that name could have flown under their radar. Maybe Frosch was newly instated in the Asylum? But that wouldn’t explain where he’d been for the past week.

Sting was used to his mind acting as a whirlwind of useless speculation and racing thoughts but this was something else entirely. He had only ever felt a break in his psyche this powerful after...Sting didn’t allow himself to go there. Thinking of lost past lovers was no head space to be in as they pulled into the station’s street side parking.

What was waiting when they walked in stopped Sting in his tracks. There was a man standing in the middle of his precinct, with a very official uniform on, flashing a badge to his secretary. Lucy eyeballed the badge, then widened her eyes in surprise and mild disgust.

She nervously looked around until she saw Sting walk in, Dobengal behind him, and pointed at them. Sting swallowed while the man approached. He looked to be maybe a bit older than Sting, dressed almost like one of those new jazzy types but with much longer blonde hair than a man wears. His garb was official suit, jacket and tie and Sting immediately felt intimidated. He didn’t even know he could be intimidated by clothing.

The man took off his fedora as he approached. “Agent Rufus Lore,” he said flashing his badge once more. Looked like corporate elite. “I hear you’re the man in charge of the Marvell case. That’s about to change. I got a call from capital to handle it from here. If you could provide me all the details of this cas-”

Sting raised his palm up, and looked at Rufus wildly confused. “Excuse me, sir, you’re here to do what?”

Rufus paused, looking like he’d never been interrupted before in his life. “Take over this case, sir...Eucliffe is it?”

“Detective,” he said. “Let’s talk.” Sting pushed past Rufus without waiting. He made a beeline right for his office.

As Rufus joined him, closing the door, Sting pulled the blinds down. Within a few moments they were staring at each other over the oak paneling of his desk. 

“So, you want to take my job from me?”

Rufus sighed and set his hat on the table of Sting’s desk. With how today had been going Sting had to mentally resist the urge to shoo Rufus’ hat off his desk. “I have orders, and it’s not your job anymore.”

Sting raised an eyebrow. “This is very sudden, why are you here now?” A higher up coming in and showing off was the last thing he needed, and on the Marvell case too? Sting’s job was fucked.

“The city seems to think my skill sets are needed on the case. Wendy Marvell was only fifteen and her body showed up at an empty bar just five miles from the Long Island shoreline. She was tragically and horrifically mutilated. Along with nine other victims from what I remember of the files on hand.”

Sting resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Under his breath he muttered, “Can’t believe you actually read those.” Rufus furrowed his brow but didn’t seem to catch his words. Sting drowned it out with a loud, “Right then, who am I to deny a man his right to work peacefully-” Sting made a show of shuffling the papers on his desk and gathering the details of the case together. When he had them he extended them to Rufus but pulled back before Rufus could grab them. “-Except,” Sting began. “It just doesn’t seem fair that  _ my _ job is riding on this case  and I have to watch some higher man with more power than me take that away.” He leaned forward on the desk and his blue eyes bore deeply into Rufus’.

“This isn’t an attack on you, Detective,” Rufus said.

“Oh I know.” Sting smirked and even threw in a wink to raise a bit of comical confusion in Rufus. “But I’m highly invested in this case and I hate to be left out of things, Mr. Lore. Do you get where I’m going with this?”

Rufus shifted on his feet. If Sting was as good at negotiating as he used to be, he had Rufus right where he wanted him. “Am I correct to believe you want to be partners?”

Sting shrugged, tapping the manilla folder on his palm repeatedly. “In a sense, yes. This case is... _ personal _ to me, I suppose.”

Rufus didn’t looked convinced anymore. Whatever track he’d had him on before was derailing quickly. “If it is personal, Detective, perhaps it  _ is  _ better I take it over?” he said and tried to reach for the case folder. Sting just pulled back further, holding the folder over his shoulder.

Sting grinned. “Poor choice of words. What I mean is that I very much want to see where this case goes. I have insider knowledge you may need to solve this thing, and I need a good word put in for me to capital or whoever the hell your bosses are. Think of it as a mutually beneficial agreement.” Once more he stretched his arm out to hand the files to Rufus, a winning smile taking up his entire face. Rufus looked apprehensive but he gripped the case folder. When Sting didn’t pull back he grabbed the folder out of his hands and began looking through it.

“Is this everything?” he asked after a moment of reading.

Sting put his hands behind his back before he answered. “Most of it yes, everything we have on Wendy Marvell, the victim, and Damien Evans, our one lead and possible suspect.” Rufus stared up through his eyelashes with attitude, as if to remind Sting that he knew who the case persons were. Sting ignored it and continued.  “Actually, some new evidence popped up just today. I haven’t had a chance to file it away yet, what with you walking in here so unannounced and all.”

Rufus put the files down immediately and made fierce eye contact which Sting didn’t much appreciate. Why was he always doing that? “Which are?” Rufus asked.

“Before I tell you, do we have a deal?”

There was a pause then, “Yes.” They shook hands.

Sting grinned wider. This day may be spiraling out of his control, but he’d be damned if he went down with it. “Evans’ corpse was found this morning,” Sting said.

“Where?”

“Outside an abandoned pub. Just like the last victims. One bullet entry, no exit wound, right through the eyes-” Sting pointed a finger between his brows to emphasize his words. “Naked. Only this time the body was secluded. Wouldn’t have been found if the smell didn’t bother the neighbors on the other side of the street so much.”

“And?” Sting must have hesitated because Rufus added, “You look as though that is not all you have on your mind.”

Sting almost laughed. He wanted to be good at hiding his emotions, wanted to be good at putting on his societal mask and doing his duty but it seemed he still couldn’t get himself to stop looking so damn lost all the time. 

“Apologies, it has been a long day, Agent Lore,” Sting confided. “But, yes, there is more.” Rufus patiently waited for him to continue. Hands still wrapped around the case folder protectively. “Damien Evans had a son, apparently. Who has just turned up at the Orphan Asylum Society in Westchester County. The call was placed as I arrived here.”

Rufus’ eyes widened ever so slightly. “What of the missus?”

“We don’t have any information on her whereabouts just yet. But the precin-but  _ I _ am very interested in pursuing any and all leads we can,” Sting said.

He began pulling some extra equipment from his desk drawers when an idea hit him. Sting looked up at Rufus with wide eyes. The other simply raised an eyebrow. 

“What is that look for?” Rufus asked.

Sting’s smirk came back. “I know a way we can get information from a suspect.”

Rufus furrowed his brows. “Detective, you’ve just told me our only suspect turned up dead-”

“Ah ah, not our only one. Frosch Evans is still alive. He’s at an orphanage. And I happen to be meeting someone who may have some juicy information on our kid.”

“Meeting someone?” Rufus seemed skeptical but Sting just raised his hands in defense.

“Not like that, don’t get ideas. I thought I was going to have to cancel this morning when the evidence came in but all we need to do is have a little interview with him. And you’re going to join me.”

Rufus’ face changed so slightly Sting almost didn’t see the miniscule widen of his eyes. Sting shrugged. “Not directly of course. You’ll sit just across from us while we...chat. He’s an old friend.”

Rufus opened his mouth as if he understood then he averted his gaze and said, “And you expect me to sit alone?”

Sting shook his head. “That’s up to you, buster. Look you could even ask our secretary to go with you. She’s already stuck her nose in my business before.”

At that Rufus gave him a strange look. Sting just gave him a long blink and said, “Long story. Are we doing this? I have to be there in twenty minutes.”

Rufus nodded as he said, “Very well, let’s make haste.”

Sting kept his smile up, and walked briskly out of the office, hearing Rufus’ footsteps assuredly walking behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Rogue tapped his foot impatiently. There was a slight breeze chilling the coastal air. Pedestrians passed by bundled in scarves and coats. Rogue just stared out at the Hudson River with a passive look on his face as he took another drag of his cigarette.

His back leaned against the grimy brick building, but he was starting to regret it the longer he waited. The brick was cold through his felt overcoat. People would start staring if he stayed too long waiting for that damn blonde. Not to mention the questionable smell coming from the alley to his right.

Rogue looked at his watch one more time. Sting had told him seven PM. Well, here he was at ten past seven and the blonde was running late. Maybe not that late though, Rogue supposed he would give Sting the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone was as punctual as Rogue liked them to be.

Just as the last drag of his cigarette burned up to the filter, he turned his head. Sting was rounding the corner, jogging with some sort of brown paper bag in his hands. He spotted Rogue as he kicked off the wall and Sting came to a stop panting beside him.

“‘M sorry-” Sting gasped out nearly bent over himself trying to get his breath back. “I- _ huff _ -had a few complications- _ huff _ -at the station.” Sting straightened up and flashed Rogue an award winning smile. “I felt bad that I was already late so I ran to get you something to make up for it, but realized that just made me more late.”

Sting held out the brown paper bag with a nervous smile. Rogue raised an eyebrow at him, but hesitantly took the offer. He peered in the bag curiously, and the sweet smell of a bakery wafted up. 

Sting, it seemed, had been waiting for a response because he looked very uncomfortable standing and staring at Rogue in silence. Rogue closed the bag. “There was no need for this,” he said eventually.

Sting seemed to breathe out in relief when he spoke. “Either way, I hope you enjoy it. Uhm-shall we?” Sting jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the building. Rogue nodded as he fell into step beside him.

P.J. Clarke’s on the inside was slightly better looking than its ratty exterior. A bar ran along the majority of the building but there were tables toward the front where various patrons sat. As they entered Sting reached back for Rogue’s arm.

At first Rogue was afraid he would grab his hand in a public place, but Sting merely grabbed his elbow and pointed him to a table. Even as Rogue sat down Sting never dropped that beautiful smile. It made Rogue’s palms sweat and he wasn’t exactly sure why.

He clenched his fists in his lap when Sting leaned in to say, “I know the owner so I’ll be right back.” Rogue nodded and Sting disappeared among the patrons at the bar.

Rogue shifted on his seat, turning his head and trying to crack his neck, but to no avail. His stomach still felt strange. Like his very insides were bubbling. Rogue didn’t understand it at all. Though he knew the sudden feeling came coupled with the familiar cloud that carried him away from reality.

Rogue wasn’t aware how many seconds had passed before Sting made his appearance again, easily sliding into his seat. By the time he came back to reality Sting was trying to get his attention.

“Uh, Rogue?” Sting asked. 

Rogue shook his head and tried to focus on those icy blue eyes. He knew what Sting’s appearance should have reminded him of, but there was something in the way the man held himself that was different yet familiar. It shone in his eyes as well. Rogue thought he could see himself in Sting’s eyes.

Rogue cleared his throat, placing his elbows on the table. This was one date. Rogue was a cold blooded murderer, how could he be feeling nervous now of all times?

“ _ Sí _ ,” Rogue began. “Sting, I am surprised by you. Not many people even get a first date out of me.”

Sting raised an eyebrow and let out a nervous chuckle. “Are you implying this is our second?”

A waitress came over then, asking them what they wanted to eat. They both took what she offered from the water pitcher she was carrying and told her they would order later. Rogue fingered the menu and glanced at it as he said, “I’m implying that it’s not always I affiliate with one night sta-”

Sting, who had been taking a sip of his water, nearly spit it out. He made a strangled noise and struggled to swallow. Rogue stared at him as he coughed and pounded on his chest. Sting looked apologetically at him. 

“Agh-Sorry I-” He coughed one final time. “Let’s skip the formalities, hm?” Sting brought his smile back as he lifted his menu. “Small talk is always so boring.” 

Rogue lifted an eyebrow. “Very well, how is your case going, Detective?” Rogue pressed. Sting so far had seemed like an open book. Transparent and an extreme do gooder. There was a voice in his head that questioned what Rogue was doing here with  _ him _ of all people. He had a million and one reasons to not be here right now yet he was the one who had agreed to this. Whatever Rogue thought, he had gotten himself into this mess. At the very least he could try and judge some intel from Sting.

Sting seemed to hesitate, but his thin lips changed into a smile so quickly Rogue thought he had imagined it. “Getting closer to closing it every day,” he replied simply. Of course he wouldn’t give details. Sting wasn’t a fool.

Sting put down his menu and made serious eye contact with Rogue. “I feel like this whole time I’ve been telling you about myself, but I know so little about you. Friends shouldn’t be mysterious with each other, hm?”

Rogue resisted the urge to shift in his seat uncomfortably. As it were he cleared his throat.  _ Friends? _ he thought. At this point they were clearly something between that and lovers, but Rogue gave him the benefit of the doubt. They were in a public place afterall, anyone could hear.

“To be frank, I am surprised at your tenacity. But very well, what would you like to know?”

“What do you do for work? You look like a well dressed man yet in this economy that’s unusual so what is it? Construction work? Agriculture-” Sting had been lazily glancing at his menu but his head snapped up with a slight inhale. “Do you  _ sew _ ?”

Rogue furrowed his eyebrows. “You think I am woman now, ah?”

Sting let out a chuckle. “Forgive me, no. I just, your clothes seem so high end I thought you must have insider contacts.”

Rogue let out a breath of air. He gripped his cup of water but let it sit on the counter. “None of that, I am engineer under my father. We came from Italy to escape bad poverty and now here we are. Stuck in this shithole without a way out. We make, ehh, decent money. Enough to keep us much better off than the rest of this dump you Americans call a city. But even we are not invincible.”

Sting put his menu down, his eyes shining as he leaned forward. “An engineer you say? Y’know I’ve always been fascinated with human ingenuity. The things we make are astounding. What do you manufacture?”

“Recently a lot of radio work. It seems our military is pushing for advances but these things take time.” Rogue was lying out of his ass, and for once he felt bad about it. Yet he knew telling Sting the truth would most likely end in him getting shot on the spot. Or the very least arrested. He wondered how much trouble he could be in if they took this...whatever they were, to new levels.

Still, it was the way Sting was looking at him that made him rethink everything he once knew about the world. He chomped down on his tongue to stop the thoughts from flowing. This had to end here. Rogue knew this wouldn’t go anywhere peasant.

Just at that moment their waitress came back over. Sting and Rogue took a minute to relook over all their options and order. The waitress left them with a smile of her face as she took the menus.

As she left there was a loud knock from the booth behind Sting, as if the man sitting there had bumped his elbow. Sting jumped slightly and his demeanor changed just as quickly. Rogue wondered if he had imagined that look of scared nervousness.

Sting showed off a wide smile as he put his hands folded across each other on the table. “So how is young Frosch settling into his new life at the orphanage?”

The question caught Rogue off guard. Since he had signed as Frosch’s legal guardian he’d just barely had enough time to get his servants and set up the boy’s room right next to Rogue’s on the estate. He didn’t want to leave the boy all alone tonight, he still seemed upset over having grassy green hair. Yet, all Rogue could do was stare at the boy as he sobbed. He was utterly helpless when it came to comforting anyone.

Sting looked at him in a strange way and Rogue realized he’d been caught in a moment of vulnerability. Rogue cleared his throat. By the time this night was over he was going to be head under water in a deep sea of lies. “I know only what you do. Since yesterday my job has not permitted me time to check on him. However, I trust Miss Scarlet and her orphanage. The boy is in capable hands.”

Sting nodded. “I’m sure he is. Shame what happened to him. I only heard bits and pieces of the story though-” Sting leaned over the table and whispered. “If you don’t mind my asking, what  _ did _ happen to the boy’s parents?”

Rogue shuffled his feet around uncomfortably. Sting had a look in his eye that seemed like it was scanning his every move. He tried to hold his head just a bit higher and not give away anything Sting didn’t already know. Which was hard considering he had no idea how much or what parts of the story Frosch had told Sting yesterday.

Rogue easily let his face slide into unreadable territory, shielding his emotions from giving him away. “Frosch didn’t talk to me much about it. When I first found him that is. He was, ah, wandering. Down the north side of the Hudson where our work is stationed he was alone. Barefoot.  _ _ . I had never seen a child so...how do you say? Desolate looking.”

Sting expression changed as he listened, into something Rogue couldn’t make out.  _ Maybe he has a soft spot for kids _ , Rogue thought. “I myself am not sure on the details,” Rogue continued. “But it seems like his parents had gotten involved in rather risky business trades-” Rogue leaned in for effect. “-They may have even been murdered.” They stayed that way for a while, looking at each other.

Sting’s blue gaze was serious, contemplating. He looked like he was trying to pry open a rather difficult box to find its contents. Rogue let his eyes bore into him, without flinching. He kept an open eyed stare, cautious to let his body react to the lies he was spewing through his teeth.

Then Sting pulled back sightly, “Nasty business that is,” he said. “Enough to put shivers down a lesser man’s spine.”

Rogue let out a chuckle. “You say as if you are bigger man. Listen well, Sting. There is not one person alive who is greater than another. We are all men on this earth. We all do evil, as we all do good.”

Sting paused for a moment, as if embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to imply. Of course, you’re right.”

Just then the waitress came back with a tray loaded with their food. Sting caught her arm before she could put it down. “Actually miss,” he whispered into her ear. “Can you hold onto that for us a moment.”

Sting turned to Rogue who shot him a confused gaze. “It’s rather stuffy right here, ain’t it? I’m going to head to the little shoe shiners room,” His voice dropped an octave, like he didn’t want anyone to hear. “When I come back how bout we move to a...more ventilated spot?”

Rogue raised an eyebrow but he didn’t complain. “Whatever you feel suits the mood. I do not much care for wasting time however.”

Sting gave him a wink. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

 

* * *

 

 

What was Sting thinking? His heart was pounding and his palms sweat. After today he thought he would have been less app to still believe in Rogue. But he had barely even blinked as he told Frosch’s story. And his voice had sounded so genuine. It was rare Sting ever met genuine people that cared about others. He had given up on the idea that people like that even existed in the world.

He took a deep breath and paced a bit more in the single bathroom stall. His shuffling footsteps were the only thing he could hear aside from the blood pumping through his eardrums. Rogue’s alibis would have to be checked, and Frosch inquired upon back at the orphanage. He wasn’t in the clear yet but Sting had a hunch Rogue wasn’t what he had thought.

Over his years on the force he learned to trust his hunches. They were usually right.  _ Besides _ , Sting reasoned with himself,  _ Rogue has done nothing to incite my suspicion. _ In fact, that night in the alley set aside he had been a perfect gentleman.

The door to the bathroom creaked open harshly and an annoyed voice followed the entry of new footsteps. “What the hell are you doing, Eucliffe?” Rufus spat out. He closed the door and locked it behind him.

Sting pushed all his other thoughts and emotions away. He tried to keep his voice steady as he replied. “I’m trying to solve the case. I needed some air to think, and we needed to talk.”

Rufus crossed his arms. His long hair swaying over his shoulder. For the life of him Sting couldn’t understand why he didn’t just cut it short. “I believe Chenney’s telling the truth,” Sting said with finality.

Rufus just hummed sarcastically. “We don’t know anything about the suspect until we check up on his alibis.”

Sting just smirked, hoping it was more effective than it felt. “Trust me, Agent. I have a feeling.”

“Oh, you have a feeling? Are you willing to bank your career on that?” Rufus asked.

“Hasn’t let me down yet. Listen, why don’t you go give central a call. My officers can have his alibi checked lickity-split.”

Rufus didn’t move, he stood still, blocking the exit with a blank look.

“What?” Sting asked.

“Are you going to continue the investigation or date this man? It sure sounds like you have ulterior motives here, Detective.”

Sting creased his eyebrows. “A little faith would be nice, okay! I got this handled. And what is it to you anyway?”

Rufus paused. For the first time since Sting met him a mere hour ago he actually seemed caught off guard. His gaze shifted around the room and he rubbed at his lower jaw. “You and I both know what they think of the so-called loonies down by East Village. Don’t let anyone know you’re one of them.” Sting was shocked. Rufus’ tone had turned so serious he might as well as have been made of stone.

Sting’s expression was nothing short of offended and he didn’t bother to hide it either. East Village was commonly associated with the homosexuals. Sting had only been there a few times, more often than not the people there were too wild or crazy for his tastes. He enjoyed his men more somber. What he couldn’t figure out was how Rufus had figured him out so quickly, and why he was speaking as if from experience.

He turned away from Sting, and with one hand on the door, added. “You’ll never live down a reputation if you slip up even once.”

Sting swallowed as Rufus closed the door to the bathroom and walked out without another word. He gave it a few minutes before following, smoothing back his hair once more and checking his appearance in the mirror before he stepped out.

Sting’s walk was brisk. He had wanted to get away from Rufus to avoid this, but it seemed he was too damned good at judging people. No wonder Rufus had been placed on this job in Sting’s stead. He pushed down the awful fear that he was fucking everything up once more and made his feet stomp on his way back to Rogue.

When he got there he waved to their waitress from where she was in the kitchen. Sting flashed Rogue a smile and asked, “You’re alright if we move, right? I have a better seat in mind that-if it’s open-has a much better view.”

Rogue looked passively at him. Closing the menu, he shrugged. “This makes no difference to me.”

When the waitress came over she flashed them a sweet smile as she led them to the back. Meanwhile Sting kept an eye out for Rufus in the establishment, but wherever he had gone he’d disappeared to. It wasn’t until they sat down together and the waitress brought them their food, still kept hot, that he let himself relax. 

“Sting?” Rogue’s deep voice cut in his thoughts. He flashed Rogue a quick look, waiting for him to keep speaking. Instead his gaze glanced at Sting’s bouncing leg while he raised an eyebrow. Sting hadn’t even noticed he was shaking his leg. In fact he’d barely noticed that he had grabbed his fork and it was  _ tink-tink _ ing against the side of his plate until Rogue pointed it out.

“You getting cold feet all of a sudden, ah?” Rogue asked, digging into his pasta with a sharp jab. “Or are you just a junkie and I didn’t know before?”

Sting shook his head, forced his leg to stop shaking, and put his fork on the plate like a normal human. He managed a dry chuckle. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Rogue’s fork stopped moving. He just stared at Sting and Sting felt his heart pound all over again. “You think a lot?”

Sting tried to keep up his confident smirk but Rogue’s tone made him falter. He did think, and he did it much too often for his own wellbeing. “‘Tis man’s curse, is it not?” He settled on. Sting grabbed his knife and began to cut into his too small steak, forcing a normal look. Rogue nodded as if he agreed and looked back down at his food.

Sting had to admit it to himself, he managed to keep it together rather well after Rufus was out of the picture. There was a voice in the back of his head reprimanding him for being a selfish partner, but there was also Rogue in front of him. Dark brown eyes always catching the light of the stained lamps above and shining with red specks like blood on a tanned hide.

Sting smiled at the way his lips curled, as if Rogue almost didn’t want to laugh but couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the company they had together. For now, Sting let himself fall into those little quirks; they way Rogue’s head cocked when he explained something, the way his fingers moved slightly off the utensils as he talked. Every move was exactly Rogue. Sting supposed he was lucky that at least one of the men he let fuck him was comfortable enough to be free around Sting.

Likewise Sting felt he had nothing to hide. By the end of the night Sting began assessing all the ways he was fully enamoured with the man and how that could spill a million complications for his job, his social life, and this case. Yet still, he found he didn’t care so much about all of that? Sting had heard rumors of stories about happy homosexual couples living out in East Village among their own kind. Where no judgement lies.  _ But we could never have that… _ Sting thought as he followed Rogue out of the building when they had finished their meal.  _ Could we? _

Sting stopped when the cool night air hit his face. Rogue turned just before the curb ended. His look was questioning, but his body language said he wasn’t going to press about Sting’s hesitation. Sting looked at him with something between fear and confusion. With a knowing look, Rogue stepped toward him.

He extended a hand. “It was, ah,” Rogue began as Sting took his hand, and held it in a firm shake. “A nice night.  _ _ .”

Sting chuckled. “See, yeah, I don’t speak Italian.”

Rogue smiled. A real genuine smile and Sting got the impression that didn’t happen often.

Rogue shook his head. “Do not mention it.” Rogue scuffed the toe of his boot a little and dropped their handshake. “You know,” he began rather quietly. “You are pretty boy. Pretty boys have never been good for me. And yet I wish we could meet again...like this.” His voice trailed off slightly. Sting waited for passing patrons to leave earshot of the restaurant before answering. It was better no one overheard.

“I do as well. And we don’t have to be so formal, y’know.” Sting smiled but it seemed Rogue was too nervous, or too busy in thought to respond. So, Sting patted his pockets and came up with his notepad and pen that he usually used for work. He quickly scribbled down his phone number before handing the ripped paper to Rogue. “Call me.” He paused. “Anytime. It’s just me and Lector at the house so-” Rogue stopped his speech with a strange look. Sting laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, my cat.”

Rogue nodded and took the piece of paper, staring at his number blankly. “Lector is a stupid name for a cat.” Without another word he took off down the sidewalk along the river, hands in his pockets. Sting let out a shaky breath, watching Rogue as he walked away.

“Detective Sting Eucliffe!” He heard a voice yell from down the sidewalk. Sting turned to see a very pissed off, high walking Rufus stalking towards him. Sting grimaced. It was time to face the music.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K but lookit that smoke effect on the aesthetic....iconic.


	9. Getting Closer Just To End It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting and Lucy find themselves bonding over unlikely things. Rogue confides in Sting despite his better judgement to stay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof I know its been a while. I had to get To Love or To Lose back on track before I posted a chap for this fic again. I have also been writing some BNHA fics on top of getting sick and regular college/life business. BUT! I'm back so here we goooo~

_September 12, 1935 - Night_

“-and he waltzes in! Like he owns the goddamn place!” Sting was in the middle of pacing back and forth, ranting about his previous falling out with his new “partner.”

“Sting, maybe you should sit down?” Lucy suggested, smiling over at him from her spot at the bar. He hadn’t thought that after the stress this case had brought, a night out drinking with Lucy Heartfillia could be as cathartic as it was. But here he is, ranting about his troubles with Agent Lore and spiraling ever closer to spilling his misgivings about the new man he had unwittingly set a dangerous sight on.

Sting guffawed and threw his arms in the air, while Lucy took a swig of her sazerac. “Sit down? When I’m so close to attaining terminal rage velocity? You must be the insane one, Heartfillia.” Even as he was saying it Sting had a smile on his face, and he began to sit down next to Lucy once more. He grabbed the cold rim of his whiskey on rocks and twirled the liquid inside.

He sighed eventually and said, “As if this case wasn’t bad enough I get the uppitiest goon from corporate here working a chisel in my plans to crack it.”

Lucy made a noise and if Sting didn’t know better he’d say it was almost a giggle. “Agent Lore is under strict orders just like you. Really we’re all just trying to get by.”

Sting dropped his head into his hands. “Then why is it so hard to get anything done. And not to mention the riot act he read me Monda-” Sting stopped himself short. He wasn’t thinking clearly. If he didn’t stop he might spill some of the secrets he had learned about this case. Secrets that he hadn’t even told Rufus Lore yet. Secrets about Rogue. _Rogue_.

Maybe it was the alcohol getting to his head, but Lucy had never seemed so easy to talk to. The thought almost scared him. As if sensing something was off Lucy raised an eyebrow at him. “Riot act? I thought you said Rufus was just bossy not aggressive.”

Sting shook his head. It had been a long day and he felt fuzzy. “No, that’s not it. Forget I said anything,” he said and looked away, anxiously jumping his leg up and down on the crossbar of the stool.

Suddenly Lucy placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sting,” the way she said his name was strangely tender. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I’ll be here if you need someone to listen.”

Sting looked at her quizzically. When did their relationship become so close? It wasn’t like they’d ever been on the wrong foot, but after she refused to give more details about her associate Erza Scarlet, she had gone quiet. Avoided him for the next few days afterwards. It seemed that Lucy still thought of him as not only a co-worker, but a friend. Sting wasn’t sure he was prepared for that information.

Sting took up his glass of whiskey again. Keeping his gaze trained on the rows of various bottles past the bar, he said. “I’ve seen you around West Village sometimes-” Lucy tensed beside him. “-I never greeted you because I perceived it to be inappropriate if you knew what I was also doing there.”

Sting didn’t have to look to know that her gaze had softened. He heard Lucy’s dress shuffle as she shifted in her seat. Sting took a deep breath before going, “What I figure is now that I’m already mashing my gums about things you hardly know about-” He sighed. “-You and I are similar, Heartfillia. And regardless of any _hand_ you wanna put in this case I don’t think you truly know what you’ll be getting into.”

“What on god’s green earth are you going off about, Detective?” Lucy said, an almost joking tone in her voice.

Sting shrugged and rubbed at his tired eyes. “Maybe I don’t even know, Lucy.”

Out of nowhere Lucy giggled. Sting shoot her a look. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just- that’s the first time you’ve called me by my given name.”

Sting nearly sputtered. “I can switch back if you-”

“No,” Lucy interrupted. “Don’t worry yourself about it. If I understood any of that nonsense you just uttered, I’d say we can be close to partners now.” Lucy raised her glass as if in a toast.

Sting was hesitant, but eventually he gave her a slow smile and raised his glass. The _clink_ was just as satisfying as it was slightly discomforting. He hated showing any side of himself that wasn’t the happy-go-lucky mask he used to veil the broken man inside. Yet with enough sips it seemed that Lucy Heartfillia was going to be able to bring it out of him. Sting took a swig from his glass, nearly wincing as the burn traveled down his throat.

“Seriously, Sting,” Lucy began, eyeing him casually. “If you need to talk about anything, I’ll listen. This last week you’ve seemed quite strained. Anything I can do?”

Sting chuckled to himself. “Me, a grown man, accepting help from a dame,” he said with a reproachful tone.

Lucy furrowed her brows and put her hands on her hips. “Hey, women can be a lot of help. Don’t be so old fashioned.”

Sting was too afraid to look at her. “My apologies. But it’s not every day I...become so forward.”

Lucy humphed a breath of air out. “Stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s wrong.” Her tone was demanding but still concerned. Sting could have felt happy for it.

“What if I told you I was fancying someone-” Sting thought a moment, unsure of just how much he wanted to spill. “Someone who...so far, has proven to be...somewhat of a dangerous mystery?”

Lucy gave him a weird look. All the same she took a breath and looked ahead before saying, “How dangerous?”

Sting gulped. “Connections to this case dangerous.”

Lucy audibly gasped, her gaze snapped to him. She cut herself short by putting a hand to her mouth. She set her lips in a thin line and looked away again. There was a long moment before either of them spoke. Finally, Lucy broke the silence with a tentative, quiet voice.

“Are you speaking of a man or woman?”

Sting winced hearing the question. The bar they had chosen to frequent tonight was too busy to pay them any attention, but it still wasn’t safe. Sting lowered his gaze and mumbled, “A man.”

The longer this went on the more Sting couldn’t meet her eyes. Lucy went silent for a long time however, and curiosity got the better of him. He looked over to find unexpected comfort in her eyes. Her brow was furrowed and those brown eyes sparkled under the flickering fluorescents.

“For this case,” she began. “For your job and yourself, you have an obligation to step away from him.”

Sting cursed under his breath. “Damnit, I know that,” he whispered harshly, hardly caring he had cursed in front of a lady.

Lucy quickly put a hand over his wrist and continued, in a firmer voice. “For your heart and happiness...you have the right to pursue him.”

Sting eyed Lucy. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. No more than he could act on it. “What good is happiness if I’m too broke to feed myself? ‘Cause, confound it all, I’ll wind up in a hover camp before I find a way to solve this case.”

“Are you certain?” Lucy asked. “I mean, are you sure he is a subject in these murders?”

Sting scoffed. “Now I never said that-” He let out a deep sigh. “-but, I had looked into him before. His alibis checked out. One of our own even vouched for him.”

“Someone at the station?” Lucy interjected.

Sting nodded and continued. “But he may have more information on the Evans’ boy than he lets on. Rufus does not trust him.”

Lucy hummed in thought. “I don’t wish to overstep my bounds, but who is this mystery man?”

Sting shook his head. “You would not want to know.”

There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she said, “Someone I know, then?”

Sting suppressed an inward groan. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Alright, I’ll leave it be. But Sting, it doesn’t sound as bad as you’re making it out to be. His alibis checked out. If he knows anything else perhaps getting close to him would help you figure out what it is.”

Sting stared at her. “That does not sound like the Lucy Heartfillia I know.”

She chuckled. “That’s because you only know the secretary. I’m speaking as a friend now.”

“You sound so casual about it,” Sting grimaced.

Lucy gave a half shrug. “Maybe it is casual. You don’t have to look so worried about it.”

“I just have a bad feeling. I can’t figure out why.”

They took another quiet sip of their drinks. Sting pondered over her words but couldn’t arrive at any conclusion. For now, he supposed he would take her word for it. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as he thought. His gut feeling had never failed him. But he also had never felt the closeness Rogue brought him. For all that mattered this feeling could be Sting’s own misgivings about a stable relationship. Afterall he had never been one to deserve such a thing.

Sting fumbled with the change in his pockets after a bit, about to leave a tip and bill on the counter for the drinks. “It’s late,” he said. “I appreciate you acting as my social cover.” Sting smiled at her. It was good for him to be seen in public with women from time to time. Easier for no one to suspect anything else.

Before Sting could place his change on the counter however, Lucy pushed his hand back down. “Nonsense, I’ll handle it.”

“But-” Sting sputtered then he looked at the change in his hand, he didn’t have enough to cover the cost anyway.

Lucy didn’t seemed phased by that in the least. “My family has more than enough funds. Besides, I never did pay you back for acting as _my_ cover as well.”

Sting and her locked eyes for a moment of solidarity. For the first time in a while, Sting began to feel something close to partnership. Lucy and him, after tonight, now shared more than just a union job.

 

* * *

 

 

Rogue called him late that night. Later than Sting had stayed out, which was strange to begin with. Sting checked the clock on his mantel before answering the ring, expecting some emergency at the station. It was already midnight.

“Hello, Eucliffe speaking,” Sting said. There was some shuffling and static from the other end before Rogue’s deep voice came crackling through the ear piece.

“Ah, Mr.-" a clear of the throat. "Sting. It is Rogue. I’m sorry to call so late.”

Sting perked an eyebrow up. “Don’t worry about it, I usually can’t sleep at this hour anyway. Plus tomorrow’s my day off.” He kept his voice nonchalant and easy as he sunk into the chair next to the phone, it’s cord wrapping around the arm of the chair.

“Is it truly?” Rogue asked.

“Nah,” Sting smiled. “But I like to pretend it is sometimes.”

Rogue seemed to laugh on the other end but the sound was strange coming through a garbled speaker. “How does that work out in the morning?”

“Usually terribly.” More laughter and this time Sting couldn’t help but join in. “Tell me, though,” Sting began when the conversation was quiet again. “What possessed you to be up at this ungodly hour? I certainly hope you’re not in any trouble.”

“No, no,” Rogue said. Even over the phone his accent was still thick. “Well, not yet. My uncle always had me pegged for a ruffian so we shall see.” Sting chuckled. “No, Sting. I enjoy being honest with you, tis one of the blessings this world brings. If I may expose myself so, I wanted to hear the sound of your voice again…” This made Sting pause. Rogue sounded so sincere and he wasn’t aware after their first impression that this man could sound so tender.

“Careful, Rogue. You may begin to sound like my estranged wife.”

There was an odd sound on the other end and Sting thought it almost sounded like someone choking. “Ack!” Rogue came back with. “I will need to pay you back for that one.”

Sting smirked and he wished dearly that Rogue was face to face with him. This was the first time Rogue had called him like this. When Sting handed the man his phone number he hadn’t expected a call in the middle of the night, but here they were and Sting found himself not hating it.

“Well, since we are here. How have you been, Rogue. I hope the rest of the week has treated you well?”

Rogue gave a strangled kind of choke. “You would not believe it if I told you the half of it.”

Sting played with the phone cord in his fingers, liking the feel of the cool plastic against his warm digits. Lector arched his back and pushed up against his legs, the cat’s tail wrapping around Sting’s leg. “I’m a detective. There’s not much I _wouldn’t_ believe.”

“Ah,” Rogue sighed out. “It has been a long day. I am tired of the violence…”

Rogue was quiet and Sting’s ears perked up. That gut wrenching hunch came back to him but he pushed it away. “Violence? You said you weren’t in trouble, what’s this about violence?”

Rogue kept up his silent treatment for some time. Enough time for Sting to call out his name again and wonder if suddenly his phone cord had been cut. “I am not the one in trouble,” Rogue said finally. “But my _papà_. His health fails him. If you ever met him you’d know the man has the biggest temper anyone’s seen. It makes his sickness worse.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sting replied, worry etching his brow. He bit his lip before responding. “Cherish the time you have left with your old man. You won’t know how much he means to you until he’s gone.”

They were quiet again and Sting wasn’t quite sure where his words came from but he was increasingly aware of the growing void inside his chest.

Finally, Sting heard a breath of air rattle the phone receiver. “You are surprisingly wise for someone who named themself Sting.”

Sting found the ability to laugh again. “I told you, that’s just my name.”

Even as Rogue talked Sting could hear the smile return to his face. “Your parents must have been interesting types.”

Sting scoffed. “I suppose so.”

It was roughly two hours later that Sting and Rogue hung up the phone. They had talked for much longer than Sting ever expected but he was beginning to find it easier and easier to open up to Rogue. A turn of events he never would have expected after the night they met.

Sting turned over in his bed as he thought about what Lucy had said earlier that night. _...It doesn’t sound as bad as you’re making it out to be.  If he knows anything perhaps getting close to him would help you figure out what it is._

It couldn’t really be that simple. Rogue had sounded rather rattled when he first picked up the phone. Sting hadn’t picked up on it until his tone changed the longer they talked. Suddenly Rogue’s voice was smoother and more steady with what it said. Sting wondered how he hadn’t noticed before the shaking in Rogue’s voice or the tentative way he opened conversations. But it wasn’t noticeable until it was gone.

That night soon became a sleepless one for Sting. He kept tossing thoughts around his head. Theories about the case and Rogue’s connection to it. He kept reprimanding himself for going back there because Rufus himself had said that Rogue’s alibi checked out. He truly was just a bystander who saved a young orphan boy from the streets.

Still, Sting could not understand what his gut was telling him. Once upon a time it might have been so easy, but now his heart and his head were saying two different things and Sting began to lose all sense of what was right or wrong. In a way, none if it was right, but none of it was wrong either.

By morning the only thing he’d been able to figure out was his next few steps regarding this case--the case that soon would start haunting his dreams as well as his waking life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chap I know but I didn't want to go into the next scene cuz that would have made it super effing long and plus this just felt like an okay ending for a chap.  
> Also just you wait, this chapter sets up some zingers! We are in the thick of it now and I can't wait to see how you all react to it going down ;)


	10. Runaway Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue and Gajeel are tasked with bringing Sorano back to the Mafia. So marks a new chapter for Frosch's life as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, i know it's been forever. I just got caught up in writing Kiribaku that I lost the momentum I had built on this and also I got super lazy, busy, stressed and all the things about uploading this.  
> but! its here now! Enjoy!

_ September 13, 1935 _

Rogue stood with Gajeel at his side, reluctantly listening to his father lecture them both on how they were going to rectify all the wrongs that befell this family in the last few days. Rogue’s fists had been curled for the two hours they had been sitting here. The last place he wanted to be was anywhere with his deadbeat of a half-brother.

Rogue knew all of this already, regardless of his father’s “life lessons.” He knew where he had fucked up, and perhaps even more where he was currently fucking up. It seemed, however, that Skiadrum had very specific plans for the both of them. Why else would he have called them here, and made them sit in these awful, cold leather chairs before his office desk?

Rogue watched uselessly while Skiadrum paced in front of the smoldering fire of coals, the backing of his chair sometimes covering his body as he passed behind it. The longer Rogue sat here the more he found himself spacing out. Drifting away as if he wasn’t real. It was the only way he could handle the flood of emotions that arose upon seeing his father so he didn’t try to stop it or come back to reality.

“Ryos!” His father’s voice snapped him back into the room. “ _ _ ?”

“ _ _ ,” Rogue replied. Skiadrum narrowed his eyes in a glare. He knew his father was testing his reaction to those words. Trying to find out if Rogue really had been paying attention despite the blank, glazed over look in his eyes.

Skiadrum lifted his nose slightly and seemed to accept the answer without a fight, presumably he didn’t deem it worth his energy. Skiadrum stopped pacing for a bit and placed his hands on the left end of his desk. His gaze flicked between his son and the illegitimate one.

“We cannot let an asset run away from the family,” Skiadrum firmly repeated himself. “She knows too much to be let go.” Then Skiadrum’s gaze dropped on Gajeel. “You have done nothing for this family, but I will give you one more chance for  _ restitution _ . Bring the Angel girl back to me, and keep her in line this time-” Gajeel’s teeth grit and he tensed but Skiadrum ignored it as he turned his gaze to Rogue next. “That-however you say it- _ _ was under your attention. You have failed me,  _ _ . This is your chance to prove neither of you are worthless sons to the family.”

Skiadrum straightened and looked down his nose at the both of them. “ _ _

Suddenly then Gajeel shot Rogue a look. His lips curled up into his pierced nose; those yellow teeth were revolting enough to curdle milk. Without looking at Skiadrum he said, “No way in hell, old man!”

“Shut it. You will do as I say,  _ _ .” His tone was enough to make Gajeel’s eyes widen in anger, fear, and rebellion all at once. They held a stare as Skiadrum kept talking. “I have been more than merciful to you, yeah? I’ve fed you, clothed you, allowed you into this family when I should have killed you,  _ _ -”

Gajeel was on his feet faster than Skiadrum could react. The leather chair he sat in squealed loudly as it was pushed back. “You didn’t raise shit,  _ _ !” He snarled and Rogue knew the use of his poor Italian was a blow to Skiadrum’s legacy and heritage.

Gajeel had completely rejected everything that had to do with Skiadrum and the family ten years ago...when their mother was killed for having an illegitimate child. A rebellion which included even the Italian background he himself came from. His argument had always been the same, his father wasn’t Italian so why should he speak it? Still the surfacing of his rough accent made Skiadrum’s nostrils flare. 

“My pops was the only one who was ever there for me. The only one who ever gave a shit about me _or_ _you_! But you stabbed him in the back anyway. I’d rather kill myself than do anything you ask.”

Skiadrum’s eyes became duller with contempt and exhaustion. His voice was cold and small when he replied. It was filled with tempered rage, but somehow it destroyed the painful silence that befell the room. “ _ _ .”

Rogue merely gripped his nails tighter into the fabric of his pants. He knew he would be here for a while. When those two got at it there was little that could stop them. The knowledge of that didn’t make it any easier to bare, unfortunately.

Gajeel was about to open his mouth but Skiadrum began cursing him out in Italian. He completely dropped english, presumably to hold some sort of sick power over Gajeel by reminding him where they all came from, but it could just as easily be because he was too angry to speak properly. There was a shift in Skiadrum’s posture that left a seed of worry in Rogue’s stomach.

Skiadrum, while he raged, wasn’t turning red but white. Blood was draining from his face, and he staggered a hand over the desk always to keep himself upright. Rogue knew Gajeel barely percepted this small change in posture but to Rogue it was everything. Skiadrum, for all the act he puts forth, was dying.

Truthfully, Rogue could barely follow the string of words that came out of his father’s mouth. It was a lot of strong talk about Gajeel’s ungrateful attitude. A lot of hidden coughs behind cracks in his voice that could have been passed off as anger. Skiadrum went on about how Gajeel had no other choice except to do as he said, as he was technically bound by blood to the Mafia. Skiadrum yelled that Gajeel had already fucked up his life to a point where this family, and the crimes they organize, are the only thing he has to his name.

All the while Gajeel was clenching his fists and shouting right back at Skiadrum, in English. He cried about all the years of blame and guilt Skiadrum should be facing for the crimes he’s committed and the families he’s destroyed.

“ _ _ ?” Skiadrum asked. “Ryos is the only thing you have left that even remotely can be called your family. Now, I am telling you, in order to redeem yourself you must work together, and right the wrongs  _ both _ of you have done to this family.” He placed his hands behind his back, straightened and looked down on them again, which meant he wasn’t debating this further. His lips were set in a thin pale line. Upon standing straighter he seemed to force some animation back into his body. Rogue still saw the sickness taking hold of his dull eyes.

Gajeel and Rogue shared a look of disgust. Rogue by now knew that his father wouldn’t back down from this. And if Rogue wanted to take his place he would have to comply. It would be just as easy for Skiadrum to find a more suitable heir. No matter what his bloodline was. 

Rogue let out a sigh and stood up. He gave his father a small nod, when he looked back at Gajeel the older man seemed ready to explode on the nearest punching target. Rogue just placed a hand on Gajeel’s shoulder before he exited the room. He knew Gajeel would follow. For as idiotic as his elder half-brother was he knew when he had lost an argument.

Once they were out of the office and down the hallway enough to not be heard Gajeel stuffed his fists in his pockets and groaned in frustration. “That old man lives with a stick up his arse,” he said.

Rogue let out a huff. “He’s trying to keep the family afloat,” he said as he shot Gajeel a side eye. “Which by the way means that you get to keep having a place to stay. You could show more gratitude.”

This is when Gajeel stopped in front of Rogue, sneering in his face. “Gratitude is it? For the man that killed our mother  _ and _ my father!” Gajeel turned away from him. “You’ve got some sick mind to follow him.”

Rogue narrowed his eyes. “He is my  _ _ . Are you telling me you wouldn’t follow yours anywhere he asked?”

Gajeel turned away, disinterested in the conversation now. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with, huh? The sooner we find that bitch the sooner I never have to do this again.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rogue stared at the scribbled number on that small piece of paper for what felt like the hundredth time. It was small enough that he could carry it around in his pocket, and he hadn’t trusted himself or anyone else to leave it somewhere unattended. So, in his pocket it stayed. He had stared at Sting’s messy handwriting for so long he was pretty sure he’d be able to recognize it at a glance by now. Rogue had never seen anyone else do that weird squiggly thing with their sevens.

He supposed he should have given Sting a call by now. But two days had passed and he still couldn’t bring himself to ring the numbers in his phone. There was always an excuse. The first it had been too soon and Sting would think him pathetic for calling the night after they just had dinner. Then it was work and then taking care of Frosch and showing him how the Mafia worked. By now Rogue was just stalling.

Rogue pocketed the paper swiftly when the car door opened and Gajeel ducked inside again. “Nanagear saw her just last night-” he began before he was even in the car fully. “-but he swears he has no idea where she went off to. She was with that snooty police chief’s daughter, he refused to say anymore to a ‘junkie reject’ like me,” Gajeel mimicked with poison dripping from his voice. He huffed and finished with, “No one at the drug house has seen her either.”

Gajeel let his head fall back on top of the low backed seat, his face contorting somewhere between frustration and agony. When he opened his eyes again he scowled at Frosch in the back seat, still fiddling with rocket pistol Rogue handed down to him. It was only a toy gun but Frosch seemed fixated on it, holding it like it could go off at any moment.

In hindsight maybe that wasn’t the best gift he could give to Frosch. But Rogue was pretty sure the boy’s innocence had sailed by now. And if he was going to be raised in this family he’d have to learn how they did things. At least it was better than Rogue’s childhood, when his own father had put a gun in his hand from the time he was seven years old.

“Did ya have to bring the kid?” Gajeel sneered and Frosch looked up at him with a blank face. Thankfully Rogue had finally gotten his hair to stop sticking up in random spots but it was still greener than the spring grass and he wasn’t sure that was going to go away anytime soon.

Rogue turned his head. “I did, yes. Now, suck it up and let’s start with the address we got from her dealer, huh?”

Gajeel reluctantly turned the key in the ignition. “Don’t ya think exposing a little kid to this kinda shit is, oh I don’t know, bad parenting?”

Rogue shot him a warning glare as they pulled back into the busy street. “He’s seen just as much as we did when we were his age.”

Gajeel grumbled but didn’t say anything more. About two minutes into their ride, Gajeel was opening his mouth again, “I don’t imagine you’ve had any contact with our missing Angel, have ya?”

Rogue shook his head as he stared out the front windshield. “Last I hear she was discharged from the hospital but I’ve no idea where she’d run off to.”

Gajeel chuckled dryly. “You know for spending about half your life in America you sure don’t speak it well.”

Rogue stared at Gajeel with a vehemence that had Gajeel holding his hands up in defense. “Aight, Mister Glares, you can stop trying to kill me with just a glance.”

“ _ _ ,” Rogue said quietly. “It is a bad habit when it comes to you.”

Now it was Gajeel’s turn to glare. Rogue just let a sly smirk climb its way up his lips. 

Then a small voice spoke up from the back seat, “Where are you going to find an angel?”

Rogue looked over his shoulder at Frosch, the toy now placed neatly in his lap. Gajeel barely glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “We are not looking for a literal angel,” Rogue explained. 

Gajeel let out a very distinctive chuckle, “Ghi hi. Nah let the kid think what he wants to think. It’ll be fun when he finds out the truth.”

“Shut it,” Rogue reprimanded him. He kept talking as he turned around. “We are trying to find someone who has done wrong by our family. So she can do right by it instead. She just happens to go by Angel.”

“That’s a funny way of spinning it,” Gajeel quipped.

“Isn’t that name kind of ironic?” Frosch asked.

Gajeel looked at Rogue with someone like amusement in his eyes. “Kid picks up quick, huh?”

Rogue nodded. “Yes. I suppose it is,  _ _ .”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Gajeel parked the car Rogue already wasn’t liking the looks of this neighborhood. It was a rundown house tucked somewhere not far off from East Village but in the poorer sections of Brooklyn.

This was the address Sorano’s last dealer had given us. Apparently she’d been staying here for a long time before she went rogue. Rogue contemplated briefly how hard it would be to get her medical files from the hospital to find out where she was discharged to instead of going through this hellhole.

The neighborhood was bare. Almost non-existent. Just bare houses stripped of everything except their outer shell. Rogue could tell that at one point these one story brick buildings were an up and coming new rise with lots of potential. Each building was cramped up against one another but there was a section about halfway down the road where the construction petered out and instead of brick buildings there were Hoover Camps- just pathetic ripped blanket or cardboard thrown over some plywood beams for a makeshift hovel.

Rogue crinkled his nose as he stepped out of the car. Three car doors slammed as even Frosch stepped out to see the wreckage. Rogue turned behind him. “Maybe you should stay in the car, ah,  _ _ ?”

Frosch stared at him blankly, but it was Gajeel who spoke for him. “Yer the one who wanted to bring em on this little mission. Well let em see what it is we really do.”

Rogue narrowed his eyes at his half-brother but didn’t say anything in protest. He looked down at Frosch, the expression in the boys eyes was something similar to determination. Yet Rogue thought he sensed fear behind those pupils.

“You wanna learn to survive in this family?” Rogue asked. “In this world?” Frosch slowly looked up at him and nodded. “Good. Then follow quietly.”

Gajeel strode ahead of him muttering off the house number from the address until they were standing in front of it. Still with his hands in his pockets Gajeel looked back and gave them a serious look. They both knew where this could go if things didn’t go smoothly.

Instinctively Rogue held out a hand to make Frosch stay behind him. With Gajeel in the lead they walked up the cement pathway to the front door and knocked. It was a long while until someone came to the door. When they did the door was only cracked part way open, held back by a thin silver chain lock.

Gajeel was closer to the door, thus blocking Rogue’s line of sight to catch who was really behind the door. The voice that came out however did not sound like their angel. 

“What do you want?” a small voice mumbled. Now that the door was open Rogue could vaguely hear the moans of other junkies inside this rundown shanty. All things considered it was the best looking building on the block, but it was still largely unfit for human inhabitants. Rogue could smell the rat poop and cat urine from here. His nose scrunched.

Junkies really were good for nothing. He should have known better than to recruit one but Angel was clean at the time. What a fool he’d been. And now Rogue was here, unwittingly forcing his brother and a ten year old child to help him clean up his own mess.

Gajeel didn’t bother to hide the sneer on his face. “Skiadrum sent us to pick up something he lost. I think you know exactly who I’m talking about too.”

“I have no idea who that is-” the voice said and tried to close the door but Gajeel stuck his foot inside to jam it quickly. Gajeel’s smirk grew wider. Rogue had never really seen his brother acting the dog for his father, but it was beginning to look like he enjoyed it.

Gajeel leaned in, a wicked grin on his face. “I can smell yer lyin’,” he said. Rogue practically felt the shudder of fear from the other side of the door. In a desperate move the door was opened slightly just so it could slam again against Gajeel’s foot, but Rogue’s hand caught it too quickly. 

“ _ _ , and all that right?” Rogue croaked out the motto of their family, now pushing his own face closer to the crack so he could peer in. The junkie that stared back at him was weasel haired and bug eyed. He began to back away when Rogue glared at him.

Then Gajeel took his foot from the doorway just so he could slam it into the door handle. The door swung open with a mighty crash and bang as the chain lock snapped in pieces. Gajeel and Rogue stepped inside easily, stepping over the broken chain as if it were a pile of trash. The door hung barely on one hinge.

Rogue continued his stare at the man who had answered the door. His hands were scratching at his arms now as if it were a nervous tick. Up close the smell was worse and Rogue noticed so clearly the marks and scars all up and down this man’s arms. But this man was not the one who was important to them.

Rogue, with his intimidation in place, strode up to his quivering prey. He grabbed the junkie by the collar, bringing him to his toes as he stared him down. “Where. Is. Angel?” Rogue asked, letting his voice drop to octaves he rarely had to use.

The man shook his head as if he didn’t know. Rogue slammed him down to the ground and pulled out his pistol, quickly aiming it at the man’s head. Rogue’s finger was already on the trigger by the time the man screamed and begged for his life.

“N-No please!” His words came out choked and strangled yet rushed. As if it hurt him to speak, but not doing so would result in his death. The later part of which was actually true. “An-Angel, she’s uh-I saw her. She’s here!”

“Where is she!” Gajeel demanded underneath a guttural growl. He took a few steps forward as if to hurt the man. The only reason he stopped was because Rogue held out his other hand.

The junkie’s eyes darted everywhere but they held particular interest in Frosch’s company. Rogue didn’t need to look to know that the boy was watching the entire scene blankly. Just like he’d watched his own father that night.

“Uh,” the man’s voice shook. “Upstairs.”

Gajeel didn’t waste any time before he bounded up the steps two at a time. Rogue followed soon after, pocketing his pistol once more. He didn’t look back to see if Frosch did the same. Rogue knew the boy would.

Upstairs was somehow even more of a mess. Rogue nearly tripped over two rats fighting as he stepped up. There were gaping holes in the floor where if Rogue wanted to he could see clear down to the floor below him. 

Instead Rogue focused his attention on their only target. They came to a long hallway, most of which was just filled with open rooms from which moans and sounds of questionable origin emanated.

Rogue took the lead, brushing past Gajeel with a, “This is my mess. Let me clean it.”

Whether or not Gajeel was happy about the order he never saw. Rogue was too busy bursting into room after room, shoving makeshift curtains aside or just plain walking in. More than once he found sights he could only describe as deplorable. Rogue couldn’t even be sure that half of these people were alive still. But he knew his target would be. All of her faults aside she was smarter than that.

Finally, in the fourth room he shoved the curtain aside with more bravado than he probably should have. The instant the curtain was open there was a loud bang and Rogue was stumbling backwards by a force he couldn’t place.

A small rivulet of warm liquid traveled down his shoulder and it was the sensation that brought his hand to the wound.  _ I’ve been shot? _ Rogue thought.

Gajeel ran in, shoving past him. Rogue heard two more gunshots and then screaming. He ignored the annoying throbbing of his muscles. Pain had never really come to him anyway. He was a monster who couldn’t feel anything. But that monster didn’t like to be messed with.

When Rogue walked into the room he caught Gajeel holding Angel to the wall, her fine hair bunched up in his fist. His other hand held her wrists behind her back. She was squirming with all the might she could, but it was no use. Gajeel was a hulk of a man. Bigger and stronger than Rogue had ever been. When he had something he never let it go.

Angel screamed once more, a desperate, shrill cry of a caged bird. Gajeel was snarling but suddenly his expression changed. Back once more was his sadistic grin. With her pressed up against the wall like that Gajeel took a liberty in letting go of her hair. 

His beefy hand ran down her neck and rubbed the length of her arm. She struggled more but Gajeel held her firm. Angel opened her eyes to shoot him a glare and for a single moment Rogue was certain he saw the beady glint of a tear in the corner of her eye.

Still, Rogue just stood there as Gajeel’s hand travelled to her wide hips, circled them and began to move up the smooth curve of her stomach. He groped her breasts and she bit her lip until it bled. Rogue had some sense to stop it when Gajeel’s hand attempted to travel down the neckline of her dress.

“Enough!” Rogue said. “There is child present.” He gestured to Frosch who was still behind him. Gajeel backed away with a frown but he put his hand back to holding her sweaty wrists.

Gajeel let out a huff and said, “We should kill you for deserting the family.”

It was here that Angel finally found her voice. “I didn’t desert!”

Rogue stepped closer to them, his menacing glare piercing into her beady brown eyes. “You rat out our establishment. You run away. Cost us irreplaceable money. I don’t think you understand exactly what you have done.”

“ _ _ ,” Angel retorted, spitting back into Gajeel’s face.

“Got a tongue on this one,” Gajeel said as if this were a game. “I always said women shouldn’t get involved in the things we do. They learn too much. Bad influences and all.”

Rogue frowned. “Regardless, Angel. You must be atoned.”

Gajeel made a noise, something between discontent and a laugh. He muttered something under his breath that Rogue didn't quite catch.

“What?” Rogue asked, rather harshly.

Gajeel turned his head as if exasperated. “It’s  _ atone _ ,” he said and Rogue raised an eyebrow. “She must a _ tone _ . Not  _ be _ atone-And you sound stupid anyway, just shuddup and let me talk.”

Rogue scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You sound just like a pretentious American. You and your grammar rules. A word is a word. It does not need more rules than that.”

Angel looked between them both, a strange confusion blossoming on her face. “Can we not do this here, idiot?” Gajeel complained. 

Rogue threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine,” he said as he walked toward Gajeel to help restrain Angel. “Lucky for you,  _ _ wants you alive. He says we can’t afford more dead bodies after the attention you’ve brought us. Ehh, I just think you are his favorite play toy.”

To Rogue’s surprise Angel didn’t resist further. She allowed Rogue to link handcuffs around her wrists, keeping her hands locked behind her back. Before they left the room Rogue took his coat off and placed it over her shoulders. Gajeel then slicked an arm around her waist and escorted her out. As if she were a lady and he were a gentlemen coming home from a dinner party.

Angel kept her head down as they walked her, Rogue in front, Frosch behind Gajeel, through the shanty. Once Gajeel even gently guided her away from a hole in the ground that a rat was poking around. It was a rather useless tactic given this neighborhood but no one had seen the conflict between them and Angel. For all anyone else knew Rogue and Gajeel were two caring siblings escorting their lost sister out of a dangerous place.

The show was more for the world outside the shanty anyway. Angel got in the backseat of the car with very little hesitation. When Rogue sat down in the passenger side he noticed Angel and Frosch in the backseat staring at each other as if they had just met.

Angel’s gaze was sfot, however. Softer than anything Rogue had thought her capable of. She looked at Frosch as if she could see all the terrible news about his past. As if she could hear his mother’s deafening screech as soon as Rogue shot his useless father.

It surprised Rogue. Until now he hadn’t seen Angel as anyone that could show human emotion. But the way she looked at Frosch, sad, concerned, almost longingly, told Rogue that she too had a life behind her. She too has a family, or at least had in the past. She, just like Gajeel, had ambitions outside of this family. 

For some reason Rogue was upset that he didn’t share the same goals. He turned around in his seat and ignored the two as Gajeel started the car and pulled away quickly. If Rogue had a life outside of pleasing his father would that make him human? Was that the missing piece he always felt he had? Nothing to strive for, but still wishing to gain everything. Rogue couldn’t be sure. The very thought left a sour taste in his mouth that carried, and carried until it was the only thing he could taste at all. Eventually, he began to feel like he had never tasted anything else in his life.


	11. The First of the Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skiadrum's health reaches its fatal finale. Rogue finds himself in need of tender care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a long chapter! I'm so excited for this fic to keep going! We're getting very close to the finale folks! Thank you for your comments and for reading thus far, I really really love reading your reactions to this!  
> And now things are gonna start getting huggeeee so stay tuneeddd~

_ September 14, 1935 _

“You are not well. I don’t know how I need to keep reminding you of this,” Rogue said to the retreating back of his father. Sunlight was shining in the barely closed blinds. Rogue had meant to catch his father in a good mood but it seemed those were few and far between with him. 

Almost immediately upon entering Skiadrum cursed him out for disturbing him in private, nearly doubling over in a coughing fit as he tried to get out of bed. Rogue had to pick his father up off the floor and sit him back down, but he refused to stay and simply got back up anyway.

Skiadrum’s closed quarters had been a mess for the past few days. Lately he had refused any servants entry. Preferring to be alone, like an animal seeking out it’s last moments of deathly shame in solitude.

Skiadrum coughed, though he tried to repress it, which only made him cough more. “You are too much like your mother,” he said, walking on shaky feet. Skiadrum pushed Rogue’s shoulder to make a path to the end table with whiskey on the far side of the room. As he poured a glass Skiadrum continued speaking. “You let your emotions worry you.  _ _ .”

Rogue had to resist the urge to sigh deeply. “As your underboss I am looking out for your wellbeing. What will we do if you die, ah? You have a million enemies, a thousand soldiers and most of them think they are big enough to be next  _ _ -no  _ _ please-”

“ENOUGH!” Skiadrum shouted over his shoulder. He slammed his glass back down on the end table, making all its contents jump and rattle. “I do not plan on dying.” The room quieted. Skiadrum looked back at the cream colored wall, something like remorse crossing his face. “But if I do it will be no surprise either,” he said pouring another drink. 

Rogue couldn’t take it. He rushed to his father’s side and forced the cup back down to the table before his father could bring it to his lips. His father stared at him challengingly. Rogue could have sworn those dark beady eyes swirled with a fire inside them. Rogue kept up the charade until his father opened his mouth. Just before he could speak Rogue interrupted with “The drinking will make it worse. You can not fight off illness like this.” Rogue paused for effect. “ _ _ .”

“ _ _ . I’m capable of handling myself.” Skiadrum ripped the glass from under Rogue’s firm grip and took a big gulp to spite him. “Don’t you have business deals to be running?” he said as he grabbed the entire bottle of whiskey and walked back to his bed. 

Skiadrum stumbled once, but he made it look as if he had just grabbed the four post on his bed to sit down easier. Even so, Rogue noticed the way his lips turned flesh color, and most of the blood drained from his cheeks.

“Investors are shaken up about the new investigator in town looking into the Marvell girl’s case. I thought you might want to settle their worries yourself,” Rogue said in monotone.

Skiadrum looked passively into the distance. His fingers tightened around the bottle of alcohol. “Sad case she was,” he remarked as if not truly paying attention to the conversation. “Scarlet was quite close with the girl wasn’t she?”

Rogue looked to his shifting feet before saying, “Yes. She is the one pushing for the most violent action to avenge the girls negligent murder. It seems what we’ve done to Evans wasn’t enough. Now she has her sights set on the nosy police.”

Skiadrum seemed to frown and took another swig from the bottle. He contemplated a moment. “Evans, ah...he had uh-a  _ _ ,  _ _ ? Wasn’t that the one you brought home in illusion you could care for it?”

Rogue’s fists clenched but he hid them behind his back. “ _ _ .”

“Whatever happened to him? Does Scarlet want us to dispose of the boy too? She knows our rules, and I’d rather not dirty my hands on a child, but a don must sacrifice what he can to keep the underlings in line, no?”

“ _ _ ,” was all Rogue could think to reply with. It was hard to think over the pounding of his own heart. His palms were getting sweaty and his nails dug into the calloused skin of his hands. He thought a moment, then opened his mouth to say, “I do not think such actions necessary. Scarlet has never shown… _ _ in the boy like that.”

Skiadrum seemed to grunt, still staring at the distant wall. “Can’t see why. He is the son of the man responsible for Marvell’s death. If it were me I’d want every last trace of that family line erased.” Skiadrum turned his head as he spoke. He calmly locked his eyes with Rogue and glared. 

Rogue’s stomach flipped. He felt goosebumps form underneath the sleeves of his shirt. It wasn’t just a statement about betrayal and vengeance, it was a challenge of sorts. A reminder that Rogue’s life belonged to him. That he could have killed him and many others long ago on a righteous streak of vengeance. More importantly, that he could still follow through on that death threat.

The room was caught in a terse silence until Skiadrum spoke again. This time his voice was calmer. Without any hint of the threat he had so clearly implied before. “I do not care what you do, about Scarlet or those ah, those blue uniformed dogs. Just make sure the family is not compromised. I will not accept anymore slip-ups from you.”

Rogue let his head drop slightly. On a single breath he mumbled out, “ _ _ .” Without making further eye contact Rogue turned on a heel and strode out of the room.

His footfalls clacked dully on the tile floor as he walked the short hallway from his father’s room to the second floor foyer. Whatever came to pass his father’s health was growing worse by the day. Rogue, in spite of himself, found his mind already forming funeral plans and pawns he would have to put in place to earn favors that would make him the new Don of the family.

 

Rogue had expected this. He knew it was his father’s time, sped on by his own pride and stupidity. He just didn’t expect it to come this soon. Rogue had just gotten off the telephone with the mayor’s secretary pretending to sell goods to them in a routine ploy to smuggle drugs to one of the directors of city planning.

He walked purposefully, head high, back to the meeting he was pulled from. Skiadrum had called many of the family’s shareholders to discuss the revenue the city was producing and where they could stick their fingers in to make it bigger.

Rogue’s heels clacked down the hallway. He kept his back pin straight, even as Frosch crashed through the hallway, bumping into passing family members and servants on his way. A few of them cussed the boy out for causing a disturbance to which he yelled out an apology, but kept running.

Rogue stopped before the door to the conference room, glaring down until Frosch was face to waist with him. Frosch looked up slowly to meet Rogue’s gaze. He had that toy gun in his hand, but he was holding it like a soldier would, across his chest despite it being pistol size.

“ _ _ ,” Rogue began, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

Frosch shrugged. “I’m bored,” he replied. 

Rogue looked around, some of the servants had the gall enough to stare at the boy. Leaning down close Rogue began, “Listen, ah, you can not just run in the halls willy-nilly-” Before Rogue could finish the steady hum of voices coming from the conference room shifted. They weren’t talking calmly anymore, they were close to shouting. It only took one person to cry out “ _ Capo _ ,” for Rogue to go charging inside again.

What he saw made his stomach leap out of his throat. Skiadrum who had been seated at the head of the table was leaning heavily on the wall, as if his stomach were hurting him. As Rogue took his first step forward, Skiadrum took his fall.

He collapsed and Rogue realized he’d been clutching his heart before he toppled. “ _ _ !” Rogue cried, quickly bridging the space between the door and his father at the back wall. “ _ _ ,” Rogue called falling to his knees where his father lay.

Skiadrum stared blankly at the ceiling, his eyes wide, fist still clutching at his chest while he breathed heavily in and out. “ _ _ ,” Rogue whispered, bringing Skiadrum’s head to rest in his lap.  _ Please _ , Rogue pleaded with a god who didn’t exist for this to be some sort of nightmare. His father’s health had finally caught up with him. Gently he brushed away a strand of black hair that had fallen from its perfect gelled back placement.

Rogue noticed a bead of sweat making a stream down his forehead as he did so, but his skin felt cold to the touch. Skiadrum’s eyes were wide open as he gasped for breath. His fist kept clenching and unclenching at the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart.

“ _ _ ,” Rogue whispered.

“ _ _ …” he croaked out, eyes staring straight up like they were witnessing the end of humanity. “ _... _ .”

Rogue turned a furious gaze upwards at the dozens of shareholders all gawking on with gaping mouths and dumbfounded faces. “ _ _ ! Call for help you bastards!” His voice cracked. His throat felt dryer than a desert. All he could hear was the labored breathing of his father in his arms.

Muttered panic broke out through the room, a few people fled the room as quickly as they could. A few he noticed ran with purpose to the nearest telephone room. Rogue’s fingers curled over his father’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He felt the sting of tears hit his eye but held them back. Skiadrum hated when he cried. It was weak. Pathetic. Instead he bit his lip and willed his focus to remain on his father’s face.

Skiadrum barely glanced at him, but he raised his hand, resting his sweaty palm on Rogue’s cheek upside down. “Ah,  _ _ …” he said, his voice carrying like a sweet lullaby. There was something in his tone that made Rogue’s spinning world come to a halt. Not once in ten years had he called Rogue by that name.

Rogue could tell he was fading away, drifting off either from pain or something else, but there was still a spark in his eye as he glanced up at his son. It reminded Rogue of late nights before bedtime when Skiadrum would steal a kiss from his mother’s cheek and tell Rogue not to let his dreams fly away. It broke him open wholly. He was a raw, throbbing mass for the world to see. Just one pulsating heart dripping with blood as it slowly cracked open.

Rogue’s heart ended there. He felt it take its last beat as his father closed his eyes, sighing out loud enough to shake the heavens. He curled in on himself, cradling Skiadrum’s head in his arms even as the world descended into chaos around them.

 

* * *

 

 

Sting opened up his kitchen curtain only to frown at the outside world. Raindrops pelted his window, racing each other down the glass surface. There was a meow at his feet while Lector pushed his warm body into Sting’s leg. His tail curled around Sting’s shin, all the way up like the arch in his back.

“ _ Mrrw _ ,” he cooed again, catching Sting’s attention as he glanced down with a sweet gaze.

“Hungry, buddy?” Sting asked pushing off the kitchen counter. He grabbed Lector’s food from the high cabinet, mixed it all into a bowl, reveling in the feeling of how Lector pressed against him sweetly with the promise of food.

“Here ya go,” Sting said with a smile. He bent down and watched Lector race to the food, devouring it quickly. Gently Sting gave the cat a few strokes down the back, each time his purring grew louder.

Sting was interrupted when the doorbell rang. He looked up, it was already seven PM who could possibly be stopping by now? The only person who knew where he lived were his co workers and Rogue, and if someone was here after normal visiting hours...his mind jumped to the worst conclusions.

Sting ran up to the front door, pulling back the side window curtain to see who stood at his step. The figure was dark against the night sky and hard to see through the rain, but it was still unmistakeable.  _ Rogue _ ? He thought.

Sting opened the door faster than he could think. “Rogue?” he blurt out. Sting reached a hand to touch Rogue’s shoulder and bring him in, but stopped a moment. It struck him how miserable Rogue looked. He was soaked through his clothes and probably to the bone, his long hair fell in clumps over his eyes, not parted the way it usually was. His head was held down, and his eyes stared at Sting’s feet as if he could find something he was missing there.

Sting snapped himself awake. “Come inside, jeebs, you’ll catch cold,” Sting said, finally grabbing his shoulder and pulling him in. “Rogue, you’re soaked,” he commented reaching to take his jacket. Rogue didn’t move and that unnerved him. “What’s happened?” Sting asked already thinking he knew what this was about.

“My father…” Rogue whispered, his lips parted to form a permanently sad oval. His arms barely moved as Sting wrestled the jacket off him.

“Dear god-” Sting paled. He did know what this was about. For once he’d like the universe to prove him wrong with these hunches. Perhaps he’d just gotten too good at expecting the worst out of his drama filled life. “-Let me take your things. I’ll put on a spot of tea-er-coffee? Which do you take?”

Rogue’s eyes flitted over to Sting in a daze. He swallowed before answering, “Tea, please.”

Sting nodded. He hung Rogue’s jacket next to his own which had been placed there mere hours prior. With a guiding hand Sting lead him to the kitchen through an archway. The floor creaked under them both, louder than usual as if protesting the extra weight.

Rogue sank in his chair like a boxer defeated right at the sound of the bell. Quickly Sting placed the kettle on his stove, turning up the heat so it boiled faster. Tiny flames licked around the bottom of the tin pot, finding their usual burn marks over the old kettle.

Sting sat down opposite Rogue at the table. He had one hand plopped lazily on the wood and Sting took that as his chance. He placed his own hand next to Rogue’s, not touching it, but open to any invitations he gave.

“So is he-” Sting began, giving Rogue an easy question to answer with vague gestures and a depressed look.

Rogue glanced at Sting, those brown eyes had never looked so dark. They had lost that usual sparkle that made them gleam red, now they were nearly as black as his hair and clothes. Combined with his pale skin Sting might have joked at a lighter time that Rogue looked like death himself

He nodded in response. “Finally kicked it,” he said, turning his gaze to the burning kettle.

Sting’s fingers twitched closer, but he restrained himself. “I’m terribly sorry, Rogue. Your pa...were you close?”

At this Rogue laughed. A dry cackling sound that brought a crooked grin to his face. A pit dropped in Sting’s stomach. “Define close,” he replied.

Despite the chill it gave Sting, Rogue was more animated now. He brought a hand up to rub at his forehead, his elbow resting on the table’s edge. “It still hurts,” Sting said with sincerity. He didn’t think what he said was particularly groundbreaking, but Rogue stared at him so intently it made him feel exposed. Just like it had the first night they met. Just like it had every time Rogue laid eyes on Sting. Only now he was beginning to think that it wasn’t such a bad thing if Rogue knew all of his secrets. So, he kept talking. “Regardless of how we get along with our parents they are family, they are all we have for most of our lives. Losing them is one of the hardest things we have to deal with.”

Rogue looked away almost reluctantly, like he was fighting with himself to do it. “I suppose ‘tis true.”

“Did this just happen?” Sting asked, taking the broken tension as a cue to investigate what had passed. Rogue opened his mouth, before he could answer the kettle roared. 

“Keep talking, I’m right here,” Sting reassured him as he got up to tend to the tea.

Rogue took a shaky breath. “We’ve just finished the autopsy. The funeral is tomorrow.” He was silent for a long time before he said, “It’s all gone by so fast. Yet everything feels miles away.”

Sting nodded his head as he poured the water. “It felt like that when my mother died.” He paused and refused the urge to look behind him where Rogue was no doubt staring down his back. Sting reached above the fridge for the old cartons of tea he had saved from before The Depression. “Everything was far away, it hadn’t happened to me it happened to someone else.” Sting stared at the cups as he balanced one in each hand on their saucers. 

Sting sat down, carefully placing each cup, making sure they didn’t rattle too much. “I remember I even kicked a cop once because he told me I’d never see her again.” Sting tried for a chuckle, but Rogue just looked shocked. “What I mean is, it’s normal to react that way.”

Finally, Rogue seemed to move his gaze off Sting. He wrapped slim fingers through the handle of the teacup, resting his jittering nerves in that small space. “Here I took you for a pansy,” Rogue said putting his cheek in his other hand and almost managing to look bored. “I wonder what else I’ve been wrong about,” he said with a small look at Sting.

Sting wasn’t sure whether to smile or be offended. Considering the circumstances he chose to nervously chuckle. “I suppose that’s a compliment coming from you.” Rogue smirked. It was small, but it was there. Sting gave him a wink as he took a sip from his tea. “I’ll have you know I make a great loaf of bread.”

For some reason Rogue burst out laughing. All of a sudden Sting had a dripping wet, depressed, handsome man in his kitchen cackling out of something more profound than just a funny joke. Something about the laughter felt unhinged, like it came from a place it shouldn’t have, but it also felt real. Realer than anything else Rogue had said tonight.

Before he knew it Sting found he was joining in on the laughter. He couldn’t stop himself, especially when Rogue snorted and prompted another round of unmitigated laughter. This was so unlike them both, this was so unwarranted. It was needed and natural. Sting didn’t feel the need to dwell on the past when Rogue was right here in front of him. He could feel the present instead.

 

* * *

 

 

Sting remembered the warm touch of her hands. The way they ghosted over the tips of his messy hair, making her giggle when it tickled her fingertips. His mother was something different. The children at school were rotten and adults were cruel, but her? She was beautiful.

Sting was a young boy again, running up the steps of their summer home. A breeze followed him, blowing up the back of his shirt. He pretended it was lifting him off the ground as he jumped up each step and his shirt puffed out more and more. 

“Where’s my little guy, huh?” his mother’s sweet voice called. She was just inside, waiting for him. He stopped on the premise, a warm dread filling him. He knew what else was waiting inside, but he desperately wanted to feel the childish happiness of that summer day just a little longer.

Instead that warm feeling began to spread over his entire body. It covered his chest like it was going to take his breath away. It ran up and down his arms and huffed hot air in his cheeks.

_ \--September 15th, 1935 _

Sting’s eyes snapped open with that same feeling snaking around his stomach. Except it wasn’t dread anymore. Sting’s arm was wrapped around something permanent, something real and beside him. He looked down to see Rogue’s sleeping form curled up like a cat, one leg draped over his own, tangling them in each other.

Memories of last night began to recollect in Sting’s mind. The rain, the teacups, the laughter amidst the most terrible time of their lives. Instinctively his hand gripped Rogue’s bare shoulder and nudged his body just a little closer to himself. Sting pressed a light kiss to the crown of his head. That memory, that nightmare was no more. Rogue was here. With him.

In response to the movement Rogue moved, murmuring something in his sleep. Before Sting could think to say anything, Rogue sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Leaving so soon after that nice night?” Sting asked, a little pout betraying his attempted playful tone.

Rogue stiffened then looked back at him like he’d just noticed Sting’s presence. His bare back was a tapestry of muscles that Sting thought he could never get enough of. His fingers longed to rake down those powerful shoulder blades the same way they’d done the night before.

Rogue groaned, but he didn’t get up. He reached his hand over to the end table where Sting kept his pack of cigarettes and matches. When Rogue thumbed the matches he smiled. “Old fashioned?” he cooed.

Sting abandoned the warm covers so he could drag his body over to where Rogue was. They sat, naked, smoking together. Sticky bodies touched and mingled the dried sweat of sex from the night before.

“So,” Sting began after a long comfortable silence. “When are you leaving?” he asked. What he really wanted Rogue to answer was if Sting could come with him or not, but he may deny Sting’s presence in something that personal in his life. Regardless of how Sting felt about him, he couldn’t expect Rogue to return those feelings. 

Rogue shrugged, taking a long last drag of his cigarette. He smothered the butt in the ivory butt tray by Sting’s lamp and sat back, leaning on his arms. “ _ _ will come for me.” He paused, dark eyes staring into space again. “Whenever they need me.”

On instinct Sting rested his hand on Rogue’s thigh and rubbed the bare skin. “Will you be okay?”

Rogue looked at Sting as if offended. “What kind of question is this?” He waved a hand dismissively, sitting up. “Eh, irrelevant. I must take over the family business now. That is the only thing on my mind.”

Sting hummed something sad and helpless. “Just let me know if you need anything,” he said, sounding pathetic and desperate even to his own ears.

“Only thing I need is for  _ _ to accept me,” Rogue said as he stood up and looked out the window. It was still raining, gray clouds dotted the cityscape beyond them.

“Famiglia?” Sting repeated. “Is that supposed to mean your family?”

Rogue looked back at Sting with a raised eyebrow. “Ah, yes, that’s the english word.”

Without thinking Sting stood up and followed Rogue to the window. He slipped an arm behind Rogue’s back, hugging his waist to his chest. “Blood is thicker than water,” Sting began, taking comfort in the way Rogue seemed to hum ever so quietly and relax into him. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Right as Sting said the words he felt a shift in Rogue. Those back muscles tensed up again and he adopted a look to his eyes liked clouded glass. Sting considered asking him what was wrong. He had just built up the nerve to breach that subject when Rogue opened his mouth and spoke.

“I’m afraid I may have to leave a bit earlier than I expected.”

Sting’s embrace faltered, he pulled away slightly, allowing Rogue an exit if he needed. “Do you mean that to be now?”

Rogue turned his head to Sting. His expression was stoic, but as soon as their gazes met it softened. “Do not be mistaken, last night was, ah-” He paused, eyes roaming as if the words he needed were written on the ceiling.

Sting smirked, “Wonderful? Grand? Leaving you in awe?”

Rogue let out a single laugh, “Do not let these things get to your head, pretty boy. You’ll get what they call a grand ego.”

“Well that doesn’t seem so bad. Certainly gets your attention doesn’t it?”

Rogue raised an eyebrow. Sting could tell he was trying to hold back a laugh, then he broke the embrace. Gathering his clothes where they’d been tossed the night before, a trail of them leading to the bed.

Sting watched him, offering tea before he left, which Rogue politely declined. Soon they were waiting by the front door. Rogue’s hand on the knob. One movement away from separating them again.

“When will I see you again?” Sting asked, leaning on the wall.

Rogue made a crooked face as he shrugged his jacket on. “I have a feeling it will be sooner rather than later,” he answered.

He was always answering in cryptic signals. He never gave a straight answer. If Sting was beginning to understand him at all, this meant he wanted to see Sting again even if he didn’t know when that would be. Sting took the answer with a small smile.

He waved Rogue out the door, turning away when the click sounded in the silent house. Lector made a soft noise from the hallway. His reddish brown fur catching the morning light from one of the side windows as he stalked forward, eyes closing with content.

Sting reached down and stroked his back a few times. “Hungry, buddy?”


	12. Chaos Reigns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting receives some shocking news from the precinct. Rufus gets into things that are over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahhh im so close to the end!! this is almost over and I'm honestly so so happy with it. This story has been something I've been in love with for a long time. I hope you guys are enjoying it too! Thank you everyone for your lovely comments so far! They've been very much appreciated <3

_ September 16, 1935 - 3 AM _

The first thing Sting heard through the dusk of his sleep was the telephone ringing from the other room. It was loud enough that it woke him up, and caused him to stir in Rogue’s arms. At first the warm embrace around him was so alien he didn’t remember the events of last night...or the night before.

Sting shifted, Rogue had a firm grip on him, but as the phone began to ring they both moved. Rogue lifted his head as Sting swung his legs over his end of the bed. “ _ _ ?”

Sting groaned and waved him off. “It’s too early for Italian,” he murmured. Standing up Sting continued, “Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of it.”

Sting was used to calls at odd hours of the night. However much he sought out work at the precinct, the feeling felt mutual. He was never truly done working and he became used to getting these kinds of calls. They were usually tragic emergencies, and entailed a long night of paperwork and calming shock victims. 

Sting rubbed his face of sleep as he walked. He bumped shoulders with the edge of the wall making a mock “ow” sound before reaching the telephone.

“Eucliffe residence,” he answered, sleep dragging the tones of his voice down.

Immediately over the end of the phone he heard a panicked voice, “Sting, it’s Doben,” in the background Sting thought he heard sirens, but it was hard to make out. “Get down to Chief’s place it’s an emergency.”

Sting was awake nearly instantly. “The chief’s house? What-why?”

Dobengal sighed on the other end. “Jiemma’s dead.”

Sting snapped his eyes open, staring into nothing. He gave a curt answer and slammed the receiver back on it’s hook. When Sting stormed back into his bedroom Rogue was sitting up on the bed, enjoying a smoke. Sting made a beeline for his dresser sifting through his clothes until he found suitable wear.

“Trouble?” Rogue asked casually. He didn’t seem perturbed in the least. Amidst the swirling thoughts in Sting’s mind he wondered how Rogue could be so calm.

“Some kind of it,” Sting answered, running a hand through his messy blond hair. Sting threw on his pants and walked over to a mirror, trying to flatten back some of the wild mess he’d earned from sleeping.

“You worry like a schoolgirl about your hair,” Rogue teased. When Sting looked back he even had a slight smirk on his face.  _ The bastard _ . Sting picked up a thrown pillow and tossed it at him. He caught it easily, then said. “What is so important you have to leave so early?”

Sting grabbed his button up from the edge of the standing mirror and began to shrug it on. “Chief Orland’s been killed. My cohort called, they need more hands on scene. If it’s not too late we may be able to catch the killer.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure of that?”

“I can’t say with certainty yet. All I know is I’m needed there.”

Rogue got up from the bed. He stalked over to Sting and popped down the collar of his button up. “Be careful, ah. Don’t make me fret like a silly housewife.”

Sting managed a smile. Rogue’s tenderness gave him the boost of confidence he needed to place a peck on his lips. “Naturally,” Sting answered. Then he was bustling out the door in little more than his rain cap and keys.

By the time Sting got to Chief Jiemma’s house there were at least three cruisers lined up outside it. The scent of rain clung to the air around the neighborhood with a deathgrip. Puddles littered the ground, rippling when his boot stepped through them.

The atmosphere seemed darker around this house. Sting looked down the street and the night seemed brighter. But here? It was black. It was slick with the previous days rain. And underneath it all there was an underlying sense of urgency. Sting felt it in the mannerisms of his co-workers as they hustled in and out of the house, and around the yard. He saw it in the raised hackles of the scent dogs as they ran in circles, desperately trying to catch a lead.

Sting stalked into the house with purpose. Inside he was greeted with busy bodies, inspecting the house for clues and tagging what’s important. A toppled chair in the kitchen. Blood splatter in the living room, originated from a hallway that lead to two bedrooms. Minerva stood, tight lipped, next to a still static filled television.

Dobengal walked out of the bedroom, a cloth over his mouth. He shook his head of shaggy brown hair. The shoulders of his jacket were still glinting with raindrops; they caught the dim yellow light of the kitchen and white glow of the tele.

“It’s a disaster, Detective,” Dobengal said, scrunching his nose and putting the hankey away.

“Murder?” Sting asked.

“Certainly. No leads yet. This rain’s knocking out all the scent.” Dobengal’s nod was grim. Sting thought for a moment. He hadn’t seen any sign of forced entry on his way in, but there were clear indicators of a struggle all around the house.

He glanced to the corner where Minerva stood, arms crossed and lips pursed. “And his daughter?” Sting asked.

“Ready to be interrogated.” Sting gestured his head to Minerva, a signal for Dobengal to follow him.

“Minerva?” Sting began.

Instantly Minerva shifted her weight onto one leg and said, “No I didn’t see anything. I came home and he was on the floor. Shot in his own sleep probably.” She averted her gaze, staring at the far wall over Sting’s shoulder.

“Did he have any enemies?”

Minerva gave Sting a look. “You know the kind of man he was same as me. Ten people couldn’t count the enemies he had on both hands.”

Sting shared a look with Dobengal. “You know she’s right,” Sting said to him.

Dobengal sighed and nodded. “Which makes our job much harder.” He turned to Minerva, “Did you know any of his enemies personally?”

Minerva shrugged, taking out a packet of cigarettes and a book of matches. “Check prison records. Anyone break out recently?” She lit the tip of the cigarette and took a large inhale. As she spoke smoke billowed out her mouth and nose, curling around her pinched features. “Wouldn’t put it past the murderers who had a grudge after he locked them up.”

Minerva made direct eye contact with Sting. There was something in that gaze that was challenging him, to what he didn’t know. Then again this gaze wasn’t any different than her usual stare. Even when her father was alive and she would flit in and out of the precinct she had never looked kindly at him.

Sting often doubted she had ever looked kindly at anyone. In the back of his mind he didn’t rule out her own hand in Jiemma’s murder. “Right, well,” Sting began. “If anything comes to mind you know how to contact us-” Sting turned to Dobengal. “-I should take a look at the body.” Dobengal nodded and began to lead the way into the hallway on their left. Before Sting turned he reached out to grab Minerva’s wrist. “If  _ you _ need anything, take my number.” Minerva opened her mouth, but Sting was already writing down his digits on the small pad he kept on him.

Minerva hesitantly reached out to take the note paper, her lips drawn thin. “I’ll...keep that in mind,” she said eventually.

Jiemma Orland’s hulking figure laid splayed out in a puddle of his own blood. One beefy hand was turned up, reaching above his head for some invisible, or missing, object. Sting bent down, trying to ignore the stench of iron in the air. He couldn’t see an exit wound, only a lot of blood. Jiemma’s head was turned to the side, eyes wide open in shock.

Sting was surprised to see him this way, but not because he was dead. Because Sting had never seen Jiemma when he wasn’t frowning, or scowling at someone, or yelling in rage. A million thoughts flew through his head when he saw that face, stuck in permanent terror. He had to resist the urge to spit.

Jiemma wasn’t a beloved chief by any means. He had been crude, hard boiled and allegedly abusive during his time. None of that made Sting’s job any easier unfortunately. Holding back his disgust Sting reached out and closed Jiemma’s eyes. Now only his mouth hung, limp and ‘o’ shaped on the bloody carpet.

Sting tsked. “Can’t say this wasn’t going to happen eventually,” he murmured. Dobengal, kneeling on Jiemma’s other side merely hummed in response. The blood splatter was oddly shaped now that Sting was looking at it. It sprayed into the living room, but it also smeared over the walls and dragged a line on the carpet. As if Jiemma had been shot once, tried to escape then was finished off.

Sting took out his hankey, gingerly lifting Jiemma’s shoulder so he could see the bullet holes. Just as he thought there was more than one entry wound. Right beside each other, in his chest two scarlet fountains squirted out of black holes.

“Two gunshot wounds,” Sting said. He pointed then to the hallway, tracing the blood with his finger. “Chief was shot, tried to escape but the killer got him again.” Sting thought for a long moment. “The lock was still intact. Might have been someone Chief trusted.”

Sting looked up at Dobengal and he waved his head around as if debating the validity of Sting’s comment. “Hard to believe Chief would have trusted anyone.”

“You got a point there,” Sting said with a grim look down at the body.  Sting was just about to stand up and ask where the coroner was when Natsu Dragneel came bustling into the hallway.

“Detective,” Natsu all but shouted. Sting stood at attention, gaze focused on his cohort. “We may have found something.”

Sting was on his feet in seconds. He followed Natsu out to the backyard door, where the musty scent of rain hovered inches above the mud field outside. The scent dogs were pointing to something on the ground, one of them barked and growled intermittently at it.

As Sting came closer, he saw a black object begin to take form. It was nearly buried in the mud and covered by the pitch of night, but the outline was there. Sting took out his hankey and picked it off the ground, holding at arm’s length as it dripped.

“ A Beretta Model .32 caliber,” Sting repeated facts that had been drilled into his head.

Natsu held a plastic bag underneath the gun to slip it into for evidence. Dobengal meanwhile spoke to Sting as he stood up, brushing off his pants. “How are you sure?”

Sting looked Dobengal in the eye as he said, “I know because it’s the same model that killed Damien Evans.” Dobengal eyed the gun as he it was carted off. Sting had seen that same sleek black handle stare back at him after the nights he poured over the details of this case.

They would need to check the registration on it, but Sting wouldn’t be surprised if this was the same gun. Hopefully they could follow a paper trail from gun suppliers in the area to find the owner. Sting prayed to the demons that ruled this tragic earth that he could find the culprit before another life is taken. He had some choice words to exchange when they caught the slug.

 

* * *

 

 

_ September 17, 1935 _

The precinct had been awful to handle. Without a standing Police Chief many of the officers felt exposed, left wide open and without direction. Sting did his best to navigate everyone, but he still had to work on this case. 

It left him wrung out, hung to dry and thrown through a windstorm. By the time he got home he barely had the sense in him to feed Lector before he passed out on his bed.

Sting woke up a whole five hours later. Mouth dry. Hair a mess. Lector was kneading his claws on Sting’s chest. His skin was protected only by the fabric of his shirt. Sting lifted a finger where his hand rested on his stomach. Lector closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek into Sting’s finger, giving it a tiny nibble then laying his head on Sting’s chest.

His eyes were still barely awake when Sting heard ringing blare through the house. He dropped his head back on his pillow and released a sigh. Lector turned his ears back when he heard the phone. Ignoring a deadly glare from Lector, Sting pushed the cat to the mattress and got up to walk to the telephone room.

“Eucliffe residence,” Sting uttered, some of his enunciation lost to a sleepy yawn.

“Thank god you picked up,” Dobengal’s voice came rushed over the phone. “We’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour, I swear that operator was ruder than my grandfather after the third call.”

“Doben, what’s going on?” Sting asked, his tone dropping.

“We found Chief’s murderer.”

 

* * *

 

 

From what Sting had gathered over the phone they didn’t so much  _ find _ the murderer, the murderer came to them. Dobengal had given short detail about how they got a call from Agent Lore in the early morning hours long after Sting had gone home.

“He sounded real messed up, could barely even speak. Dragneel and I are headed there now. Wanted to let you know since he was, y’know, your partner.”

Sting pursed his lips. “Lore wasn’t my partner…” he trailed off, thinking. “But I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Now Sting Eucliffe was standing in a rainstorm as he watched a hulk of a man be dragged out of Rufus Lore’s house by four police officers, one for each limb. Orga, Sting was told his name was, lived with the awesome might of a god. He swore those muscles could crush any of the men carrying him if they were in a one on one fighting match. 

Rufus Lore sat on his cement steps, a blanket around his shoulders. He stared into the distance, unseeing, unmoving. Orga, writhing and screaming in the officer’s arms, tried to lunge for Rufus as he was carted down the steps. Sting got out of his taxi just in time to see Rufus flinch, close his eyes and look away.

“Rufus!” Orga went on, his deep booming voice bringing a thunder to the storm. “Don’t let them do this. Rufus, you son of a bitch, I thought you loved me!” Orga’s screams were muffled as the four officers pushed him inside a cruiser. Rufus turned his head, his bottom lip quivering just a little bit. His blond locks fell in wet clumps around his face as endless rain drops ran down his cheeks.

Orga pounded cuffed fists on the window, still trying to draw attention to himself. The officers jumped, glancing uneasily at the cruiser as it rattled and shook. Rufus bit down on his bottom lip, color draining from his face.

Sting walked closer to the scene and he was bombarded with conversation as Dobengal mimicked his stride. “Apparently Lore had been living with the culprit we needed.”

“Living with?” Sting mimicked, looking at Dobengal. He nodded, a knowing look in his eye. Sting knew what he meant, and Dobengal knew he understood. He quickened his speech and lowered his voice as they got closer to the front steps.

“He said he found Orga Nanagear, distributing drugs to city officials, but he didn’t name who. Nanagear and Lore got into an altercation in which Nanagear admitted to the murder of Chief Jiemma when Chief got too hot on his trail.”

Incredulously Sting looked back over his shoulder at Rufus. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Sting felt the need to talk to him, but he wasn’t sure how. Before he could, however, another police car pulled up to the scene.

A tall refined man climbed out of the car while it was still moving. Sting had never met him before, but he knew enough about the precincts around New York to notice him as the capital’s chief of headquarters.

Sting straightened as much as he could, eyes locked on his stride. Dobengal followed Sting’s gaze, doing the same when he saw the chief. Stock still they watched the scene unfold.

Rufus looked up from where he sat on the steps, hair a mess, clothes soaked. The ran seemed to let up a little as the chief approached. “Lore, what the hell’s all this?” the chief said.

Rufus swallowed hard before he set his face straight. “Chief Jose-”

Jose straightened, staring down at Rufus with a thin mustache and a wry frown. “Living with a criminal?  _ Sodomy _ in  _ my _ precinct? I should have you jailed for the trouble you caused me.” By now Rufus seemed to have accepted his fate, flinching as Jose continued. “You’re off the case, Lore. You’re off my team. I don’t ever want to see your ugly mug again.”

Chief Jose turned on a heel, spitting as he did. Rufus hung his head, features shadowed by the dark of night and his curtain of drowned hair. Soon after Chief Jose’s car sped off the way it came, the rest of the cruisers followed suit, with Orga Nanagear still yelling angrily in the backseat.

“Doben!” a voice called from behind them. Sting and Dobengal turned to see Natsu slapping his hand on the roof of his own car. “We gotta get back and file these reports, c’mon slacker.”

Dobengal locked eyes with Sting. The rain had all but stopped by now, hanging them in a twilight like mist. Sting jerked his head behind him. Dobengal took his cue to leave with a reassuring hand on Sting’s shoulder.

Faster than he would have liked Sting was alone with Rufus as he broke apart on his front steps. Sting let out a sigh and dug his hand into his pockets as he breached the last few steps to sit with Rufus.

Rufus barely twitched as Sting sat down. On the small steps their shoulders brushed at odd angles and Sting immediately felt a puddle seep into his bottom. He ignored it as he dug into his breast pocket. 

Silently Sting offered a cigarette. Rufus lifted his head enough to catch sight of that white stick, glowing in the mist and street light. Slowly he accepted the cigarette, putting it to his lips. Sting fumbled his matches until he got one that lit in all this humid weather. Rufus bent into him as the stick lit up.

Sting lit one for himself and took a puff. Seconds later Rufus coughed something awful and hackneyed. Once his fit was over he took another puff just to let out more small rumbles of suppressed coughs.

Sting looked over at Rufus curiously. Still staring into the glowing mist of the night Rufus said, “I don’t smoke.”

Despite the situation Sting let himself chuckle a bit. “Don’t hear that everyday.”

Rufus shrugged, taking another puff without much more trouble. “Used to. Quit.”

Sting turned his gaze back out into the street. The other townhouses sat in rows, with perfectly trimmed lawns if it wasn’t for the mud that crept up from the sidewalk like a swamp taking over the groomed nature there. Street lights were few and far between, some of them were burnt out and from the way the darkness settled over them Sting felt as if there had never been a time they lit up that corner of their word. A single streetlamp sat at the end of Rufus’s drive, between his neighbor’s and his so they both shared a half-globe of light. The distant glow of it reached Rufus’s eyes, turning their light grey hue into something sinister.

Sting had no more plan. He knew he wanted to be here, but that he should probably be somewhere else. There would be piles of paperwork to fill out when he got back to the precinct. Still, he supposed that some stolen time here would do a whole lot more good than locking up a criminal would.

It was Rufus who broke the silence next. His cigarette tip burning where he held it between his fingers. “There’s some things you should know, Sting.”

Sting was almost taken aback. He couldn’t remember a time Rufus had addressed him by his first name. The suddenness of it took the words from his mouth. Sting stared at Rufus until he continued.

“Orga was my partner,” he began, a small hitch stopped his speech and Sting almost thought he was finished. “I loved him.” His eyes stared straight ahead at the neighbors lawn, but something told Sting he wasn’t observing the creeping swamp there. “Orga-” Rufus’s voice cracked and choked. “-he should be arrested for a lot more things than what he’s going in for now.”

Sting turned back to his cigarette. The end had been thoroughly dampened by a stray rain drop, so he flicked it to the side.

“He murdered your police chief because he was part of a crime family. I found him selling drugs, that’s true-” Rufus took another long drag. Blowing the smoke out thickly. “-and when I pressed him on it, he tried to change my mind about it. He told me about his  _ business _ .” The way Rufus put emphasis into the word drew imaginative quotations around it. “Asked me to join him...he said once we’d saved up enough we’d bail together.”

Sting rubbed the back of his neck of sweat and remnant raindrops. His fingers fidgeted with the rounded bone of his kneecap, needing something,  _ anything _ , to distract himself. 

Rufus laughed dryly. A pity laugh. Sting recognized it less as an expression of something you found funny and more of a detached feeling that came when you hit rock bottom and realize nothing matters anymore.

“I almost believed him. Then I found the blood on his collar.” Rufus took one last drag. The cigarette had been dampened by rain and the drag sounded more like Rufus sucking on dry air.

“God damn,” Sting commented, unsure of what else to say.

Rufus lowered the cigarette, looking thoroughly disappointed in it. “We got into a fight. He gave me this,” Rufus stretched out his arm which Sting just now realized had been bandaged up, his long sleeve ripped at the seem to expose his arm. It covered his whole forearm, the edges of a long gash spilled out each end. Bandage sticky with blood. “It was an accident,” Rufus continued, putting a hand over the bandage as if he could make it disappear. 

Rufus stared at it for a long moment before he sighed, flicked his cigarette into a puddle and rested his arms on his elbows. “I’m telling  _ you _ all this because I don’t trust anyone else. Not anymore.” Rufus paused, looking at Sting helplessly. “Crime is running rampant. The men Orga-” Just speaking his name made Rufus tense up, but he kept on. “The men he is involved with are dangerous. They killed that little girl, and Damien Evans, and Chief Jiemma. They need to be stopped.”

Sting scrunched his eyebrows at Rufus. “Why tell me? Why not the officers who were here before? Do they even know about this crime family?”

Rufus held up a hand and Sting realized he’d been speaking too quickly. “No, and there is reason.” Rufus looked away again, his eyes glazing over slightly. “I-” He interrupted himself with a sigh. “I can’t bear the thought of what they’d do to him if they knew. I know it’s vile, but I can’t let them have their way with him. He’ll never talk about the family to anyone else. That’s not how they work. Despite it all, I want to protect him.”

Rufus seemed to be done speaking for a bit. Sting took this moment to digest everything. This put him leagues closer to finishing this case. To putting the people who deserved it behind bars. This was what he needed to get justice.

“Sting Eucliffe,” he continued again. Rufus spoke as if in a trance. He was on autopilot, forcing himself to get the words out before the grief took over his mind again. “From the moment I met you and on, I’ve remembered you as a trustworthy man. I know you’ll break through these limiting laws and bring peace to our streets.” Finally, Rufus looked over at Sting.

Never had he looked more rattled. His hair was still plastered to his skull, the blond strands thinned in the rain and resembled bald spots. His eyes were pleading, sparkling with a deep longing. Here Sting noticed that for the first time he had started to break down.

“Make sure this never happens again…” He trailed off, a single tear falling down his cheek.

Sting made sure to lock his eyes with Rufus’s. Sting gripped his shoulder tightly, “I promise, Lore. I will make this right,” he said, putting all of his sincerity into his words. He’d make those hoods pay.

At the sound of the words Rufus closed his eyes and breathed out as if in relief. His next inhale was shaky and sobbing. Rufus nodded and Sting removed his hand. Sting itched to fulfill Rufus’s request, but something kept him lingering.

There was an unspoken conversation between them that told him Rufus still needed the company. They sat in cold silence, shoulders brushing. Sting turned over a million and one things to do next in his head. Yet, the only thing he needed to focus on right now was the street in front of him. 

The only place he was needed was here. And here he would stay. Until the rain washed this night away, until the generations came and went, until buildings fell apart where they stood. Sting would stay as long as there was someone who needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me for   
> Fanfic stuff: Tumblr @Little-Miss-Heartfillia  
> Cosplay stuff: Insta @viviesweets


	13. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting is coming ever closer to closing his case, but when informants refuse to talk he finds he has to face the horrors of his past. Rogue has a lot of cleaning up to do after Orga Nanagear made a mess of the city and the family.

_ September 18th, 1935 _

Sting walked into the jailhouse like death on stilts. All five hours of sleep he had gotten in the past two days seemed to be catching up with him. A  _ clang  _ rang out as the cell door to the inmates area closed behind them.

Dobengal looked over his shoulder nervously, then caught Sting’s eye. Rows of cells stretched past them for hundreds of feet, inmates banged noisy tin cups on their cells or whistled as Sting and Dobengal passed them. He knew Dobengal, just like him, didn’t want to be here, but Sting had questions he needed answers to.

The jail guard escorting them stopped when they had reached the desired cell. For the first time since last night Sting was able to get a clear look at the man who murdered his Chief of Police.

Orga Nanagear sat with his bulking back to the cell door. He faced the wall, sitting at a desk as his fingers tapped out a rhythm. He was built like a barbarian. The first thing Sting compared it to was the hulking figure of his chief. Their fight must have been intense, given they were both at least the size of an ox.

Sting narrowed his eyes. He had never seen Nanagear before, he would have recognized that head of seafoam colored hair. That made Sting wonder if Chief Jiemma  _ really _ knew his murderer or if this was some lacky sent by someone with a vendetta on him.

Sting rapped a knuckle on the metal bars, and sounded out, “Orga Nanagear?”

Orga turned in his seat, his hands resting on each thigh, making him seem much larger than before. “The hell do you want?” he relied, gruff and intimidating.

Sting smirked. He liked a challenge. “Detective Eucliffe,” he said, “We still have some questions for you.” Orga curled the edge of his lip upwards, his gaze lingered on Dobengal for a second too long. They seemed to share a silent conversation with each other. Sting passed it off as extra intimidation, as he leaned his wrist on a bar, hanging it through the cell. “How well did you know Police Chief Jiemma?”

Orga scoffed and turned his head back to the wall. His answer came back muffled, “I didn’t.”

Sting turned a raised eyebrow to Dobengal who shrugged. “Then why did you break into his house and murder him?” Sting asked.

Orga had the nerve to laugh. “‘Cause authority pisses me off.”

Sting frowned. He contemplated bringing up the crime family right then and there. Rufus had wanted to keep it a secret to protect Orga. Why, he couldn’t say. Then again, love did funny things to your judgement. He needed a way to bring Orga out in the open, to get him to expose what he knew. Names of members in the crime family, a Don at best, the culprits behind his case at least.

Sting couldn’t do that here without jeopardizing Rufus’s wishes. He pursed his lips. Turning to the guard and Dobengal he said, “I need to talk in private, can you open the cell?”

The guard looked at Orga then back at Sting. He seemed shocked, but he obliged. “I’ll be only a moment,” Sting said as they both turned their backs on the cell, standing out of earshot.

Orga stood up as soon as Sting entered. His eyes flicking to the cell door when it opened, and closed behind him. Sting grabbed the collar of Orga’s blue prison uniform. Using all his strength he spun Orga around and slammed him into the wall.

“What in god’s name are you doing?” Orga sneered, hands up, back against the wall.

“I want names, now,” Sting hissed, craning his neck up. Despite the height difference Sting refused to be intimidated.

“The hell are you talkin’ bout, puts?”

“The crime family,” Sting continued keeping his voice low. “My former partner seems to want to protect you, but he told  _ me _ all about your little  _ business _ proposition. Give me names of your lackies, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”

Orga’s eyes went wide. On a breath he muttered, “Rufus.” Then his eyes narrowed, brows scrunching and he frowned. “He snitched.”

Sting let out a low laugh, tightening his grip. “No, he told me and only me. Now I’m not inclined to destroy whatever you two have between you, or break Lore’s trust in me, but I am inclined to solve a murder case caused by  _ your _ crime family. So tell. Me. Names.”

Orga leaned his head forward, he was so close now that his foul breath curled every hair on Sting’s cheek. “You’ll have to tear every limb from my body before I talk.”

Sting intensified his stare. His nostrils flared, lip curled. How much did he want to push this here and now? How much could he pressure Orga until he either talked, or cracked Sting’s neck? Sting didn’t like the answer he came to.

Still, he pressed his luck, “I can make your life a living hell here. I have people who owe me favors, I have contacts on the inside that can make you squirm. I can keep you always looking over your shoulder for the next time someone wants to take a chunk out of your skin. I can keep you on the waitlist of death row for  _ years _ , always a hair's breadth away from release without ever tasting it. So you can keep your silent pride, or you can let me know who’s involved in the murder of Damien Evans and I’ll forget you ever existed.” Sting let his words hang in the air, a warning hiss from one snake to another. 

To his frustration Orga didn’t budge an inch. He stood there, eyes cold and staring, mouth thin, forehead creased. “ _ Gloria alla famiglia _ ,” he said and spat in Sting’s face. Warm saliva oozed down his cheek, making him grit his teeth.

“This isn’t over,” he said, and gave Orga another shove into the cement wall, wiping the spittle off his cheek. Without giving him another glance Sting rapped a knuckle hard on the cell bar. The guard turned around, fumbling with his keys to open the cell. Dobengal turned as well, eyeballing Sting with confusion. “We’re done here,” he said, turning on a heel and stalking away from the cell.

“Did he talk?” Dobengal asked, trying hard to match Sting’s stride as the exit of the inmate area got closer and closer.

“Not a whisper,” Sting answered, his frown increasing.

Dobengal cursed underneath his breath. “What are we gonna do?”

Sting paused before they approached the cell door they had come from. The guard from earlier was still paces behind them, watching their every move. “I know someone,” Sting said, “but it’s risky.”

Dobengal laughed as he crossed his arms. “Our jobs are risky, Eucliffe. There’s not much else that can go wrong in this case. What else do you need to ask the murderer anyway? He already confessed.”

Sting shook his head. “I think he knows more about our killers than he lets on. Call it a hunch,” Sting said.

Dobengal shook his head. “One of these days your hunches are gonna get you killed, pal. Listen don’t stick your neck out for a “gut feeling”, we need you at the precinct.”

Sting bit his bottom lip. He couldn’t make Dobengal understand without breaking his promise to Rufus. Swallowing his pride, Sting let out a sigh. “I need to do this, Doben. Go back to the car and wait for me. There’s an old man here who owes me some favors.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sting let his gaze fall to his feet as he passed cell after cell. He had a lump in his throat, but he had to do this. Regardless of how horrible his father had become, regardless of how much he’d rather find a different alternative he needed to crack this case. And he had run out of informants who may know something.

He hated to admit it but he needed an inside man now. Much to his displeasure his father acted like he had been waiting for him. In a rundown cell amidst rows of hundreds more lives thrown away, he saw his past staring back at him. It plunged those old daggers into his heart again then watched in happiness as it thumped uselessly for some semblance of life.

Weisslogia looked happy, the kind of happy that he shouldn’t be. His blue eyed gaze stared Sting down with every step he took, threatening to strip away every last shred of confidence Sting had. It would leave him crying and shaking again in that cluttered room. He was a twelve year old boy who couldn’t get away.

Sting kept his head down until he reached the metal bars. He waited, hands in his pockets for Weisslogia to stride across the cell and greet him. Weisslogia leaned into the bars, a wry smile covering his face. His ankle cuffs rattled as they slid across the cold cement floor.

He gave Sting a twinkling smile. Somehow in his old age he managed to look youthful. He still had the playful look in his eyes that Sting used to love. His hair was was getting whiter every day. The way it disheveled around his ears combined with his darkened age spots turned him into a mad scientist with a love for playing in the children’s sandbox.

“It’s good to see you, Sting,” he said.

Sting swallowed. He felt his words choking him up, but he forced out. “I need you to get information for me.” Straight to the point. He didn’t want to be here any longer than he needed to.

Weisslogia chuckled dryly. “Can’t even greet your old man? How shameful, Sting. I raised you better than that.”

Sting curled his lips, leaning in and lowering his voice to a hiss so as to not make a scene. Suddenly, he was painfully aware of the prison guard that had escorted him here. “Killing my mother, then getting yourself locked up for life and sending me to foster care doesn’t count as raising anything. Just do this one favor for me, huh? I’m the only blood you’ve got left that actually gives a damn about you.”

Weisslogia stopped smiling, though his eyes still twinkled with something like curiosity. “What could you possibly need? You haven’t come to see me in years. Are you in trouble or something?”

Sting averted his gaze and thought about his next sentence. “I’m not in trouble, I just-I need information...from the inside.” Weisslogia began smirking again, and it made Sting’s blood chill, but he kept going. “I have a case. Orga Nanagear is locked up here. He knows information about a crime family I need to chase down, he might even be a witness to the case.”

Weisslogia gave a shrug and said, “Sounds like you are in trouble. Sting, you can tell me what’s really going on. I’m your father.”

“Like hell you are!” Sting snapped his jaws like a dog. His breathing was getting rapid, his palms sweat out of his control. Weisslogia didn’t flinch. “Listen, forget about the other shit, I just need you to get him to talk. Do whatever you want, just make him squeal.”

His father didn’t say anything. Instead he stared at Sting for a while...studying him. “There’s someone else isn’t there?”

“What?” Sting asked harshly.

“Just like the last time. I always told you to not get involved with men. They never lead you to the right places.”

Sting paled. Annoyed with how clearly his father could read his emotions just by looking at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sting played innocent. The last thing he needed was his father prying into irrelevant things.

Weisslogia laughed like Sting was denying the obvious. “With that Eugene boy you were the same. Twitchy. Angry. You still visited me then, remember? Then he twisted your mind and you got worse. Unresponsive.”

“Shut the hell up! I’m angry because of your failure to be a father! Ever think your actions resulted in that, huh?”

Weisslogia barely even bat an eye as he leaned forward once more. He never broke eye contact with Sting. His presence, the conversation, the unsolved baggage. Everything had Sting seething. Shaking with something that can’t be defined by just anger. It was too simple a word. What he felt went much deeper.

Weisslogia knew all of this. He knew it because he had caused it, but he didn’t regret it. Sting was positive he had never really regretted anything in his life. He was too twisted to think of the consequences he may have brought others.

Weisslogia opened his mouth, his hot breath tingling the tip of Stings nose. “Your mother asked me for it. She practically begged.” Sting’s hands curled inside his pockets. His lips drew thin, as he tried to keep his composure. “I mean who was she kidding? Acting pretty and perfect all the time. Like a little doll. I did what any man would do, Sting. Any  _ husband _ . I immortalized her.”

Sting wasn’t surprised to hear those words come out of his father's mouth, but they still made his blood boil. He had heard them the night the police came. He had heard them for years afterwards when he refused to plead guilty for all the murders he committed. 

“They were all asking for it,” he continued, head cocking to the side. Completely serious. “All those girls deserve to be kept from aging. Embalmed-“ Sting turned his head, feeling ready to puke. His father leaned in closer, the tip of his nose pressing against the cell bars. “-preserved. Now they’ll never age. I’ve saved them from the rest of the world.”

“You  _ are  _ the rest of the world.” Sting hissed, his words gurgling. The lump in his throat making him sound guttural, animalistic. “ _ You _ are what they should have been protected from. You sick bastard.”

Weisslogia smirked as if he was thoroughly enjoying watching Sting squirm. “Some way to talk to your kin. Don’t you have any love left for me? Any sympathy for your old man rotting in a prison cell? _ ” _

Sting shook his head. It suddenly occurred to him how much he loathed everything. Every inmate yelling across the hallway, banging their tin cups uselessly. Every security guard that stood with their back to the cells, they couldn’t have cared less about the anguish Sting was feeling.

“This was a mistake,” Sting said, backing up. “Forget I was ever here, I don’t want anything else to do with you.”

Sting was about to whirl away when Weisslogia reached through the bars and grabbed onto his wrist to hold him in place. Those ice blue eyes stared at him like a pleading child. “You can’t escape it, Sting. You can’t cut me off.” Sting, disgusted, tried to rip his wrist away but Weisslogia held on tight. “Because I’m like you.” 

Sting reached behind him to get the guards attention. The guard turned around, bringing a nightstick down hard on Weisslogia’s wrist. Sting heard a crack and his wrist was freed. Whipping his gaze away, Sting shoved his fists in his pockets and strode as fast as he could to the exit. His father’s voice grew louder, it echoed around the stories of jail cells. It followed him like the last creeping shadow that had been cursed on his life. 

“ _ I’ve always been like you, Sting, and you’ll always be like me. _ ”

 

* * *

 

 

_ September 18th, 1935 - Five Minutes Later _

“Don’t do anything else stupid,” Rogue hissed. Crossing his arms as he leaned back into the wall. Orga sat obediently on his cot, hands folded in his lap. 

“I have a plan,” Orga began cooly.

Rogue sneered. “Damn your plan. We do things by book or they don’t get done at all. You want to get out of here, yeah?”

Orga exhaled in frustration, he scanned the room before speaking again, keeping his voice calm still. “I can’t  _ wait _ that long.”

“There is a system, ah,” Rogue said, leaning his torso forward as he gestured with his hands. “I know you hate following it, but listen to your boss now.”

“You’re _ not _ boss  _ yet _ .” Orga stared him down. His folded hands tightened around each other.

“Irrelevant. If you had done the hit right the first time, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Like I said, I had the money, I had the opportunity and I took it,” Orga said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Rogue cast him a deadly glare. “The rest of the world may ask for forgiveness after dishonoring someone.  _ We _ punish the error accordingly. If you get out alive, you will be lucky.”

As the last word left Rogue’s mouth, Orga seemed to break his wall. His mouth twisted and he hung his head. “Please…” he began. Rogue’s blood curdled at the sound of a whimper on his breath. “I can’t die here.”

Raising one eyebrow Rogue said, “We shall see. Follow my instructions,  _ _ .” He didn’t wait for Orga to reply before stalking to the front of the cell. Rogue kicked the cell door, making it rattle and catch the guards attention. He balled his fists in his pants pockets. He had little time today to deal with ruffians like Orga, and plans gone wrong. He had a naming ceremony to attend, and police evidence to destroy.

 

* * *

 

 

Orga held his breath as Rogue walked away. His grip on his fingers had tightened so much he felt his whittled down nail stubs dig into his skin. Orga easily rolled his shoulders, trying to make himself relax once he was in silence.

Instead his mind kept stewing. Rufus and that night at their home. The fight and then Orga hurt him. He didn’t mean to. He had never seen Rufus more furious, had never known he was capable of knocking him out. 

His skin itched to move. Another day in this cell was going to make him rot from the inside out. He didn’t regret anything, he just needed Rufus. Nothing had ever been easy to handle until he came along. Orga palmed at his head, tearing into his greasy locks in despair.

_ This is my fault _ , he thought.  _ All my fault _ .  _ Rufus will never speak to me again _ . He couldn’t take the silence, it did things to his mind. It warped his thoughts like stirring up dark storm clouds.

Orga wrestled with himself until he cried out. A short yelp as his fist swung to strike the cement wall. He felt a crack.

Orga opened his eyes. One of his knuckles had torn open. He hissed, but not from pain, from the sight of his own beefy hands. He had wronged too many with these hands. Rufus had to be the last victim.

Peeling his skin slowly away from the cement Orga heard the fluttering of paper drop down. He turned just in time to see something white fall in front of the bars.

Dumbfounded, Orga stalked to the front. It was a small piece of paper, ripped out of a novel and folded in half. Orga found he could just barely fit his arm through the bar and pick up the note.

Quickly checking if the coast was clear he opened the bit of paper. Written on it in black ink from a calligraphy pen was an opportunity. A proposition. 

_ “So you want to get out of here? _ ” it read. “ _ So do I. Maybe we can work out a deal? -Weisslogia Eucliffe” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooOOOOOoooo  
> CRAZY STUFF IS HAPPENING!!  
> We're getting so close to the end! Right now everything's coming together and this is a big turning point! I hope you've been enjoying it so far because this has been super fun to write :D  
> I'm projecting about 17 chapters for the story? It could be more it all depends on how the ending plays out in my head.  
> anyGAY! thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me for  
> Fanfic stuff: Tumblr @Little-Miss-Heartfillia  
> Cosplay stuff: Insta @viviesweets


	14. Kiss and Don't Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting's job reaches peak levels of hardship. Rogue finds himself wanting to get lost in the love he had never felt before until now, to the detriment of both of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for angst and more bad smut y'all

_ September 19th, 1935 - Late Night _

Sting had just finished his last report of the night. The phones were still ringing off the hook, dispatchers were being sent out in droves faster than Sting ever remembered. He had never seen the city this bad before, and he had a sinking feeling it had everything to do with the death of Chief Jiemma. 

Maybe that crime family was increasing their illegal acts with the death of the Chief thinking they could get away with it. Maybe this was just awful timing. All Sting knew is that it felt like armageddon.

After putting the file away he collapsed into his chair with a heavy sigh. No sooner had he sat down than did his office phone spring to life. The tone was so loud he could almost feel the vibrations it sent through the oak desk.

Preparing himself, Sting picked up, “Detective Eucliffe,” he answered in a voice deeper than usual.

“Sting,” a familiar Italian accent came through the phone. “It’s Rogue.”

“Rogue? Why are you calling my place of work? I have business to do,” he snapped.

Rogue let out a breath that rattled the other end of the line. “I am aware. I have some news that concerns your...line of work.”

“What in sam’s hell are you talking about? Is something gone wrong?”

“No, not yet,” he muttered something Sting couldn’t hear. “Sting may we meet in person, this is not easy to say. I need your help.”

Sting felt his head throb from a small annoyance to a pounding migraine. He rubbed at his temples as he answered, “Rogue, I’m too busy, this has to wait.”

“Please, Sting, you don’t know what’s been going on-” his words grew rushed but Sting cut him off. He didn’t have time for a lovers quarrel.

“I know what’s going on in my own damn city! We’re swamped with calls of robbings, murders and drug dens. The cities gone to hell, Rogue, and I have to do my job to protect it. Now if you please, we can talk later.” He didn’t let Rogue say anything else before he hung up the phone, slamming it roughly back onto its hook.

He began to rub his eyes, but was interrupted again when the door to his office swung open.

“What!” Sting shouted out before he even caught a glimpse of who had entered. Standing there looking taken aback was Dobengal. “What?” Sting asked again, his voice deliberately calmer, more empathic.

“There’s a situation,” Dobengal said.

 

* * *

 

 

“Nanagear  _ escaped _ ?” Sting’s questioning cry filled the lobby of the precinct. Any officers around him silently shifted to look at their desks or take a bathroom break.

Dobengal looked sheepishly at the ground. In the last five minutes Dobengal had informed him of a transmission they got straight from the jail house, that Orga Nanagear was currently at large. Natsu sat, reading another transmission they were getting, an update on the status of the escaped prisoner.

“How the hell did he escape? That jail’s locked up tighter than my grandmother’s panties.”

“Language,” Natsu commented with half a glance up at him. Sting gave him a face which he didn’t respond to. 

“Guards say he had a hostage.” Dobengal paused to shift a little on his feet. Sting kept staring him down, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to continue. “A visitor named Rufus Lore.”

“Jesus Mary Joseph.” Sting breathed out turning around and beginning to pace. He ran a hand down his face then turned on a heel. Placing his palm on the table he leaned over Natsu’s shoulder to see the morse code coming in through the teleprompter. The giant metal machine cast a shadow over them both. “What are they saying now?”

Natsu grimaced. “Uh-they say another inmates missing. They think he was a part of Nangears escape plan.”

“Who damnit?” Sting cried, patience all but gone.

“An inmate by the name of Weisslogia Eu-Eucliffe,” Natsu finished with an incredulous look up at Sting.

Sting leaned back, but his knees wobbled underneath him. His eyes went wide, but he stopped seeing the table and the machine and the people in front of him. All he saw was black. Black spots that slowly took over every corner of the room and grew, then grew and grew some more until it was all he could see.

A cold hand placed on his shoulder was the only thing that grounded him. Bringing him back down to earth with the power of a ten ton boulder sinking him to depths yet unknown. When Sting opened his eyes again he felt like he’d just been tied to the top of a fighter jet as it did a flight test, then crash landed back at the precinct. Somehow everyone else was still intact.

“Sting, calm down, you’re paler than death,” he heard a voice say, but he couldn’t pinpoint where it was.

He tried to shake his head of thoughts, but that only made him more lightheaded. He tried to focus on balancing himself, but there was screaming in his ear and it wouldn’t shut up. He felt the chill of that summer’s breeze on his skin just as vividly as it felt twelve years ago. There was crying, so much crying. And it wouldn’t stop.

“I’ll get a chair,” someone said. The voices came out warped, unlike themselves, as if everything around him was fake. Nothing was real. The spinning world was the only truth. Sting couldn’t tell up from down. All he knew were vague sensations around him as hands moved over his body, putting him somewhere, but he didn’t know where somewhere was. He didn’t know where anything was.

“Breathe, Sting...C’mon, pal, look at me,” Finally, a voice came through the haze, getting clearer the louder it got. The black went away spot by spot, and something blurry replaced his darkness. “Look at me, damnit, we need you.”

“...Doben-” Sting breathed out, cutting his words short as they just barely tumbled out of his mouth. He was nearly sideways, he could tell now. Dobengal let out a sigh of relief, keeping his hand on Sting’s shoulder where it pushed him back into a chair.

Dobengal raised his other hand and smacked Sting’s cheek lightly, enough to shock him back to earth. His senses returned slowly while he sat, mouth gaping like he was dumb. As he came back to life, he realized that this was the last place he wanted to be.

Sting pushed Dobengal’s hand away. Resting his elbows on his knees, he put his head in his hands, massaging circles into his temples. “I’m just tired,” he answered. 

“I’ve never seen you like that before,” Dobengal went on, his voice was becoming clearer the more he talked. There was a shuffle of feet beside Sting, but he couldn’t be bothered to look up. Dobengal muttered something to the person who had approached. Then he was kneeling back to Sting’s level. “Dragneel got some water. Drink,” he ordered, shoving a cold tin cup into Sting’s arm.

Sting accepted it with some difficulty. Dobengal didn’t let go until he had forced Sting’s fingers to wrap around the cup. Sting silently took a sip, relishing in how the cold water, albeit a bit rusty, felt on his tongue. He titled his head back, letting the liquid soothe its way into his dry throat like a sponge.

By the time he was done Sting adopted a murderous look in his eye. He made eye contact with Dobengal, staring into his grey eyes through the greasy bangs of his flopping, blond hair. He spoke with certainty and whatever courage he could muster. “We need to find those two as of five minutes ago. No one else is going to suffer at their hands.”

Dobengal flinched, eyes widening as his pupils flicked between each of Sting’s eyes. “Stin-”

Sting interrupted him when he stood up, stumbling over the chair a bit. He kept his hand on the backrest for balance and turned to face the rest of the precinct that had gotten to their feet, watching him. 

Sting lifted his head as high as he could, bracing himself, he said, “I want a BOLO out on Orga Nanagear and Weisslogia Eucliffe now. We need patrols out looking for these bastards. No one gets around New York City without passing by one of us first.”

It only took a few seconds for the precinct to flick back to life. Officers organized themselves, pulling out records of the criminals’ faces, figuring out which patrol car would go where and with whom. Even without their leader they still knew what to do.

Sting gained some of the motion back in his feet. He turned to Dobengal behind him, a new fire in his eyes. “We’re going to go find eyewitnesses at the jail. Don’t lag behind,” Sting demanded, already striding his way past Dobengal and out of the precinct.

 

* * *

 

 

Rogue hung the phone up with a clang. He cursed his rotten luck. A headache already started to form in the back of his head. He couldn’t blame Sting, not really. He hadn’t sounded good on the phone and if Rogue was this swamped with work because of that idiot Nanagear, he could only imagine it from Sting’s end.

Rogue began to pace out of habit and picked at his lip. He had to find Nanagear before he caused anymore trouble. He had to get his subordinates in order and form a plan to wipe evidence from the precinct so their family wouldn’t be suspected of the Chief’s murder. Most importantly Rogue had to find Weisslogia whom, he was just told, had vyed after Skiadrum’s position of power for years before he was locked up. God only knew what a mass murderer on the loose with a target on the newly venerable Don’s seat could do.

“Damnit,” Rogue hissed under his breath, shooting a hand out to strike the wall.

“Frustration isn’t a good look on you,” Gajeel’s voice sounded behind him. Rogue turned to see his half-brother leaning, arms crossed, against the doorframe to the telephone room.

“What do you want  _ fratello _ ?” Rogue asked, bringing his hands back to his side.

Gajeel frowned at the use of Italian, but he didn’t correct Rogue. Instead he jerked his chin forward. His piercing gaze sharp as daggers. “Looks like you need help.”

Rogue turned, straightening his suit. “Since when do you offer your services?”

Gajeel’s frown deepened. “I could just as easily leave this family now that he’s dead. I don’t have to stick around to help this sorry scene crash and burn.”

Rogue quirked an eyebrow. “Then why stay?”

Gajeel shrugged. In all the years he had known his brother Gajeel had been curt, closed off, grumpy. They had never talked for longer than the ten minutes it took to glare at each other from across the room, and Gajeel definitely did not offer to help anyone, but himself.

“I thought I hated this place and everyone in it. I thought I’d never be able to die anywhere else just because of that stupid  _ Omerta _ . Now that he’s gone I realize it was only him I hated. Besides it’s getting interesting now,” Gajeel said. A wicked grin creeped up his face and he chuckled a bit.

Rogue set a thin line to his mouth. “Fine,” he began. “You know Nanagear is a loose canon. I know he trusted you most of all people. Tell me where you think he is.”

Gajeel’s dry laugh echoed in the bare room. “Nanagear knows how to disappear. He ain’t gonna go to any of his usual spots, but I may have a way to track him down.” Gajeel paused and it was the look on his face that made Rogue ask,

“What do you want in return?”

“Make me underboss,” he said simply.

Rogue scoffed, rolling his eyes. He started to pace again. “You really think you can bargain for a position like that? You have no idea how family works.”

Gajeel crossed his arms again, letting a sour expression cross his face. “I don’t see anyone else who’s lining up. Tell me,  _ Ryos _ -” Gajeel growled, putting extra emphasis on Rogue’s real, and hated, name. “How many people do you think you can really trust?”

Rogue stopped pacing and straightened. “You would willingly take my orders? Willingly put yourself under my rule? Willingly relive the past of our fathers?”

Gajeel narrowed his eyes and Rogue  _ almost  _ felt sympathy for bringing up the touchy subject. “We ain’t them,” Gajeel said.

Rogue stared at him for a long time. Gajeel extended his right hand, open, waiting. Rogue stared between it and his half-brother’s eyes then began to grit his teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he needed the help. He was running out of subjects that would be loyal to him. Fullbuster had already made it clear he wanted no pact beyond that of soldier. Nanagear, once his reliable muscle, was on the run. Should anything happen to Rogue, Gajeel, sharing his blood, would be the natural successor. Rogue held his breath and extended his hand.

Gajeel smirked when they shook on it. “Give me eight hours. I’ll find ‘im.”

Rogue let out a  _ tsk _ , squeezing Gajeel’s hand a little tighter. “You’ll have five,” he said. “Now go, I must see to it our family is not blamed for murders beyond our control.”

Gajeel nodded grimly, turned on a heel, and stalked out. Once his footsteps faded out of earshot, Rogue let out a deep breath of air. He glanced down at the phone again. Instead of reaching for it, Rogue bit his lip. Perhaps with Gajeel there would be no need to beg a detective for help. No doubt Sting was already on the lookout for Nanagear which would make Gajeel’s job harder.

Rogue closed his eyes and turned his head. This was all getting too complicated. Thoughts were swirling in his head without making any sense. He had no time for confusion. Rogue had to act.

He took a deep breath and walked out of the telephone room. He had a man on the inside to seek out, and evidence to destroy.

 

* * *

 

 

_ September 20th, 1935 - Early Morning _

Rogue stood on the edge of the precinct’s property staring into its grimy bathroom window. People flocked the street behind him, all of them walking home at the end of the day without a care. A couple hours before Rogue had caught Sting walking with his inside man into the precinct. He didn’t think Sting would still be here, but he hadn’t left the building since.

Rogue rubbed his jaw, casting a bored glance to the street behind him and trying not to look like he was watching the precinct, which he most definitely was. People walked by without sparing him a glance. They strode by locked in their own world as Americans are oft to do. 

Rogue resisted the urge to give them all dirty looks. None of them cared about him or what he was doing, then again why should they. Rogue’s life had turned into one tragedy after another. No one in their right mind would want to be witness to it.

Taking a deep breath, Rogue cast a look over his shoulder. Movement caught the corner of his eye. Striding out of the precinct was that familiar head of blonde hair, but not the man he was looking for. Rogue turned on a heel and walked with the crowd around the block for a bit to avoid being seen.

Sting was none the wiser as he called down a taxi from the corner of 60th and 3rd. His head ducked into the car and Rogue walked faster. The taxi pulled away, moving south while Rogue moved north, rounding the block.

He waited by the edge of the precinct. The man he needed would be out soon.

Rogue had just taken his hands out of his pockets to warm them up with his breath when a figure stalked toward him. Dressed in all black and his usual overcoat, Dobengal met him with a steely gaze.

Rogue kept his gaze down the street until Dobengal raised his voice. “You’re hanging around here is starting to get noticed. What do you want?” Dobengal asked, his voice thin and dry.

Rogue’s hands rubbed in the moisture from his breath. He returned them back to his pockets, relishing the way his breath was starting to form the ghost of a cloud in the brisk September air.

“You should’ve had it destroyed by now,” Rogue said. He gave Dobengal a side-look, narrowing his eyes.

Dobengal visibly swallowed. “Damn Detective’s kept me busy all day. No one else suspects there’s anything going on with the family. Nanagear’s taken the complete hit.” Dobengal looked away, disinterested. “Damn idiot.”

“Else?” Rogue mimicked, making Dobengal look at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean ‘no one else’?”

Dobengal grimaced. “Eucliffe. He’s a partner-less detective. I can’t tell how much he knows, he hasn’t budged an inch. Damn kid runs off his hunches to keep his career going. It’s no wonder he’s almost lost his job doing it. Regardless, I noticed he pulled Nanagear aside before the escape happened. Was asking him some questions in private after Nanagear had already confessed guilty to the murder of the Chief.”

Rogue turned to Dobengal, towering over him with a fire in his eyes. “Is that all you have for me?” Suddenly, Rogue’s blood boiled. He felt an irrational fear creep up inside him, choking him up. He forced his words out anyway, sounding guttural. Territorial. “A detective’s interrogation techniques? How does that mean he knows anything,  _ idiota _ ?”

Dobengal nearly flinched under Rogue’s words. He recovered quickly coming back with, “I’ve known Eucliffe for years. The kid’s annoying, but his hunches are usually right. I know the look in his eye that means he’s onto something. It’s a good idea to keep a lookout for him.”

Rogue rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I have no time for debate,” he said. Rogue took a step forward. “Get rid of Nanagear’s mess. If they trace it they will begin to notice a trend. Do not forget Evans lost his own-” Rogue waved his hand around searching for the english word. “-how you say,  _ pistola _ , after the mess he created. Too many coincidences will soon stop being a coincidence.”

Dobengal nodded his head. “I’ll take care of it.” There was venom in his voice and he looked at Rogue as if he didn’t trust him. Rogue wouldn’t blame him, but with the tension caused from Skiadrum’s death a look like that could only mean unrest. It set Rogue’s nerves on fire and reminded him of one more thing he had to get under control.

“<a name="return1" id="return1"></a><a href="#return1" class="hovertext76"></a> ,” Rogue said. He turned southward, where Sting had exited, and talked over his shoulder. “Don’t get caught doing it. Or I’ll find another connection to the precinct.” Dobengal’s second nod was grim, lips set thin. Rogue didn’t give him another moment to speak before he was stalking away.

 

* * *

 

 

The wooden door slammed closed, vibrating in it’s lock with the force of the push Sting had given it. He let a curse slip from his lips, kicking the wall with enough force that he felt his toes crunch inside his boot.

He cursed under his breath, catching himself. Hunched over, he panted into the wall, the top of his head scraping the hooks of his coat hanger in the entryway.

Sting’s eyes squeezed shut as another wave of panic clutched at his heart and threatened to make him blackout again. He could feel the pressure of his hand as it clutched at the fabric over his heart, but he was numb to the touch. Sting began to hyperventilate, gasping for air, but never getting enough.

There was a man screaming inside his head. There was chaos around him. No. He was home. He was here, Lector would be coming to greet him from down the hallway any second now.

Sting tried to force open his eyes, but the images still flashed in front of him, somehow taking purchase in the way his curtains billowed from the draft. A fist came his way and he felt the impact knock the air from his lungs. Sting cried out. He raked his nails down the wall, trying to draw blood, then maybe the pain would shock him from this nightmare.

Sting’s voice cracked, his throat felt raw. He rasped out another breathy groan, sucking in air through his teeth and forcing it out through his nose. It took much too long, but the images eventually stopped flashing in front of Sting. His vision returned to normal. He hadn’t left the entryway since he got home. Soft light filtered through his lace curtains, touching Sting’s cheek like the kiss of an angel. He breathed in, as much air as his lungs would take, coughed a bit, and breathed out shakily.

“ _ Mrrw _ .” Lector brushed up against his shin, curling his tail around Sting’s leg. Sting focused his attention on the cat, and definitely not on the scratch marks he had etched into the wallpaper in his panic. 

Slowly, Sting reached his hand down. It barely reached below his knees. He was almost afraid that if he bent down further his legs would buckle underneath him. Thankfully, Lector lifted himself on his hind legs gently so he could bump his crown into Sting’s palm, eyes closing in content.

The feel of his fur was more real than anything else that had happened on this cursed day. It kept Sting in a veil of tranquility until there came a decidedly loud knock on his front door. Sting jumped, eyes going wide as his heart skipped a beat. 

Lector took the intrusion rudely. He let out a disgruntled mew and trotted down the hallway to watch the door from afar with his ears back. Sting inhaled deeply, finally releasing his hand from the support of the wall. 

As discreetly as he could Sting lifted back the curtain to the side window. Rogue Chenney stood there, eyes darting around the frame of the building impatiently. Sting closed his eyes and counted to five. He only vaguely remembered the call Rogue had made to the precinct, and the bluntness of Sting’s attitude about it. Gods only knew how Rogue had reacted to that. Perhaps that was why he was here now. To read Sting the riot act and point out every way he had managed to shake the trust of their relationship.

Sting used a sweaty hand to slick his hair back, hoping that he didn’t look as greasy as he felt. He shook his head of thoughts, put his hand on the door, and opened it.

Rogue’s attention flicked from the street behind him to the front door as soon as it opened. To Sting’s surprise he looked bored.

“Sting, ah-” Rogue began, his expression shifted and suddenly he looked sheepish.

“Forgive me for my rudeness earlier,” Sting interrupted before Rogue could continue. Rogue stared at him, the middle of his brow beginning to crease. Sting let out a sigh. He scratched at his bicep. “Work as of late has been swarmed. It’s as if the cities going to the rats and I had a short fuse when you called. I apologize.”

Rogue nodded his head, making a slight “ah” sound. “Sting,” he began. “I did not come here for such small of a talk.”

Sting stared at him confused, “What?”

Rogue shook his head. “You think you have offended me? Please, I have heard stronger arguments from grandmother on her deathbed. Let me in, I came for some peace and quiet.”

Sting, flabbergasted, stood to the side to let Rogue walk in. Sting closed the door and already an excuse was flying to his lips, “I just, I felt maybe I’d been too harsh and you’d-” 

Before Sting could finish his sentence Rogue was cupping his cheeks and bringing their lips together. Rogue’s face was cold against his own, but his breath was hot and needy. He slipped a fervent tongue into Sting’s mouth, exciting Sting to do the same.

Their hips bucked together and Sting nearly collapsed in the hallway. Rogue trailed after him, pushing Sting into the opposite wall. Sting’s hands braced himself, fingers spreading over the floral green wallpaper. Rogue pulled away for a fraction of a second. Long enough to gaze into Sting’s eyes, lips still parted.

Sting felt himself go numb. Moments ago he had been locked in his own panic, terrified for he felt he might never escape it. Even if the panic subsided, it would come for him again and again, endlessly.

Then suddenly, Rogue stepped inside his abode, wrapped Sting in his arms and every past thought was thrown out the window. Rogue’s eyes were nearly black in the dim hallway, but the golden light of day caught flecks of red in them. Sting thought they resembled fire emblazoned around an onyx gem. He praised whatever god was cruel enough to make this world that he gave Sting this one joy in his life.

Absentmindedly, Sting brought a hand up to Rogue’s elbow. Rogue still had a hold on Sting’s cheeks as his eyes studied Sting’s face. Travelling to his hairline and down to his eyes, then his cheeks and lips. Sting squeezed the crook of Rogue’s elbow, needing to feel his flesh push back underneath his fingers. 

Rogue was real. He was even more real as he pushed forward again, his chest blossoming up when he kissed Sting.

Sting’s knees shook. Those lips were deadly soft. They took over Sting’s one-track mind and filled him with happiness. He hadn’t known he was wallowing in his own dread until their lips met and the pressure on his stomach was gone. The pounding of his heart calmed down to match the murmur of Rogue’s, pounding in the proximity of their touch.

Sting let his hands roam Rogue’s back, twitching with desire as they grazed over the fabric of his coat. Rogue parted from him for the second it took for him to shake his coat off. Now he stood, button up tucked into his belted pants, with his thin waist settling back into Sting’s weight.

Sting’s cock twitched and he bit his lip as his eyes raked down Rogue’s body. Rogue pressed his own bulge into Sting’s groin and the friction sent fire down Sting’s legs. Their noses brushed, lips parted, hot breath ready for more. Sting’s lashes fluttered as he turned his head and stole a wet peck on Rogue’s lips.

Rogue responded by grabbing the back of Sting’s neck and tilting his head up so he could kiss him better. They broke apart only to speak in panting breaths. “Bedroom,” Rogue uttered, his voice deep and focused. The gravelly sound sent shivers down Sting’s spine. He had no choice but to oblige. The want inside him was too great. The hole in his heart was too gaping, and he needed something else to distract from the pain, regardless of how foolish it was.

Sting would take every chance he had tonight to feel something else. Even as he guided Rogue by his wrist to the bedroom, even as they intertwined once more before they reached the doorway, Sting felt something nag deep in his mind. The city needed action so it didn’t collapse, but Sting’s world was here in his arms and it demanded immediate attention. Just for now he found he was okay with letting them down, as long as it meant he could fulfill the desperate wish of the man in front of him.

Rogue pushed Sting onto the bed and pressed their thighs together, trailing kisses down Sting’s neck. His tongue lingered on a portion of Sting’s collarbone hidden by the fabric of his shirt, and sucked. Sting ran a hand through Rogue’s black locks, loving the way each hair felt between his fingers.

Sting never stopped kissing Rogue, even as his hands undid the buttons on his shirt. Rogue did the same and soon their clothes were flying to the floor. Rogue smirked as he situated himself over Sting’s hips. 

One arm braced him over Sting’s chest, the other tickling patterns around Sting’s nipple. “I’ve had long day,” Rogue murmured, his voice somehow sending goosebumps all over Sting. “It’s time for the pleasurable form of fuck, no?”

Sting grabbed Rogue’s hips, digging his thumbs into his soft ivory flesh and loving how full it felt. “I want you more than I’ve wanted anything else in my life,” Sting whispered. He leaned forward until he was sucking at Rogue’s navel, travelling further and further down.

Rogue guided Sting’s head to his pants, where he was already unbuckling them. Sting felt Rogue shudder as his tongue glided over his groin. Rogue let out a quiet moan. His cock twitched up, getting harder the more Sting’s tongue explored.

Sting didn’t give in, not quite yet. He travelled every inch of Rogue’s cock, licking his tongue around it and over the tip. He left a trail of kisses from Rogue’s groin to the tip where pre-cum was already leaking out. Sting lapped it up, using it to slide Rogue’s cock easily into his mouth.

Rogue’s body shuddered, sinking down a little as Sting began to move his head up and down. “A-ah,” Rogue breathed out. His hand tightened its hold in Sting’s hair, urging him to go faster.

Sting brought his hands up above Rogue’s waist, easily finding purchase in his back dimples and squeezing. Rogue moaned, and finally he shifted. He pushed Sting back onto the bed where he landed on his back, pre-cum and saliva leaking out of his mouth.

Rogue laid down on top of him, their cocks touched and grew in each other’s warmth. Sting smirked as Rogue brought their lips together in a desperate need. Rogue’s tongue licked up the remnants of the mess on Sting’s chin as he rocked forward. 

Rogue’s cock touched Sting’s entrance and the feeling it gave made Sting tingle. He needed this. As much as Rogue wouldn’t admit it he knew Rogue needed this too. They had both been so starved of each other neither knew what their closeness had felt like anymore. This reunion, to Sting, felt like the only thing that had ever mattered in his life.

Rogue thrust once more for the friction, but seemed to stop himself. Cupping Sting’s cheek, Rogue whispered in his ear, “No. I want you begging first.” He seemed to be giving himself a command, but Sting could hardly think because Rogue’s teeth were nipping at his lobe. His cock still pressed into Sting’s, making everything hot and hard.

Rogue took his time trailing a hand down Sting’s chest, over his stomach, and playing with his balls. He locked eyes with Sting, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Are you going to make this easier or should I dry fuck you like the first time?” Sting felt a dumb smile take over his face before he reached for his bedside table drawer. Opening it, he revealed a bottle of lube that Rogue rubbed on his hands before grasping Sting’s member.

Sting gasped. Rogue’s hand was firm, but gentle, lathered with lube that warmed under Rogue’s touch. He was sensual, but demanding as he began to stroke Sting’s length. Sting shuddered, throwing his head back on a pillow. Rogue managed a double whammy as he sucked on Sting’s neck and rubbed his cock with ever increasing intensity and affection.

Euphoria bloomed like fireworks in Sting’s chest. The sensation travelled up his spine and clouded his head. Eventually, when Rogue pumped more lube onto his hands, he switched his target. His fingers travelled down to Sting’s ass. He gripped Sting’s ass cheek once before he tickled the entrance and Sting swore he melted.

Rogue leaned in, his body sweating, breath bated. “You’re going to take all of me,” he whispered, pushing one finger inside and all Sting could do was nod. Rogue placed a kiss on Sting’s lips once more, using the action to take a nibble out of his bottom lip and tug. “I’m going to make you fall apart,” Rogue continued, two fingers spreading deeper inside Sting now. “Then I’m going to fill you up.”

Sting let out a load moan, feeling all of his desire bubble out of his throat. “Yes…” Sting said obediently. Sting reached up to feel Rogue’s muscles as they ran over his strained arms. They moved like a panther as Rogue rocked into Sting, pressing his fingers in deeper. “I want-mh-all of you,” Sting muttered out. 

It was all he could do to hold onto Rogue and keep their chests pressed together. Sting raked red marks into Rogue’s shoulder blades every time he felt Rogue’s touch push inside him. Rogue slipped his third finger inside Sting’s asshole. He had opened him up enough that it went in easily and pressed on something hot and pleasurable inside of Sting. 

Sting’s back arched. His mouth gaped open and he gasped. Rogue removed his fingers just as Sting hit his apex. He waited until Sting grabbed at his hips, pulling him forward with pure desperation fueling his desire.

Rogue’s hardened cock pushed on Sting’s prostate, earning a breathy groan from Sting who rocked Rogue’s hips harder into him. Rogue’s cock filled his insides. They thrust together, Rogue rocked forward in time for Sting to pull his hips and cock in deeper, harder. Pleasure rose like the warmth of a fire within Sting’s veins with every thrust.

They moaned at the feel of each other. Rogue’s hot breath on his neck, soft lips tingling Sting’s skin. Sting fisted his hands into Rogue’s hair again, pulling his head close to Sting’s collarbone as he humped faster. Sting bit his bottom lip, trying to stifle his moans, but the feeling left spots in his eyes.

He had to keep his hold on Rogue, lest this end too soon. He had to keep rocking into Rogue’s cock to chase this feeling of euphoria. Sting had dropped his inhibitions at the door, and now he found himself lost in the feeling. He knew nothing, but the pursuit of Rogue’s body and touch.

Rogue’s cock stiffened inside Sting, his thigh tensed and his every movement was fuelled with purpose and drive. Rogue’s thrusts were slowing down now. By the way he smiled, eyes closed in delight, movements dragging, Sting would say Rogue was savoring every shudder that shook his body.

They went on like this until Sting’s lip cracked and his throat dried up. They continued until Rogue’s moans quickened, trapping Sting in a climax he wasn’t ready for. Rogue bit his bottom lip, dipping his head into Sting’s chest and Sting knew he was about to lose it. Sting didn’t let him go. He gripped Rogue’s hips tighter, one hand pushing Rogue further forward with each thrust.

Rogue groaned, body straining. Sting nipped at the top of his ear, fingers and toes curling. “Stay inside until it’s done,” Sting invited, voice soft yet demanding. 

Finally, Rogue gasped out and Sting felt his climax inside him. There was a single moment they stayed in that position, blinded by the ecstasy. Then, panting, they lost their energy and fell on top of each other, blankets tangled in sweaty limbs with arms draped over their bodies.

Sting took deep breaths. For the first time he noticed he had sweat dripping down from his forehead. He ignored it for favor of holding Rogue in his arms and squeezing. Rogue let out a deep, contented sigh and stretched his arm over Sting’s chest. 

The afternoon’s golden light still shone through the blinds, casting slanted horizontal rays over Rogue’s back and the tangle of their limbs under the grey blanket. Catching his breath, Sting kissed the crown of Rogue’s head where it rested on Sting’s chest. The only sound soon became the chirping of a robin outside, and their synchronized breathing, held together by something more profound than themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me for  
> Fanfic stuff: Tumblr @Little-Miss-Heartfillia  
> Cosplay stuff: Insta @viviesweets


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